


Garnet Eyes and Black Masks

by Kyia



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventuring, Attraction, Bad Jokes, Banter, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Masked Character, Mental Breakdown, Mischevious assholes, One up flirting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible smut maybe?, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Thieves Guild, Thieves Guild Questline, emotional breakdown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyia/pseuds/Kyia
Summary: *Working Title, may be changed.Brynjolf recruits someone new, another hopeful piece of the puzzle to bring the Thieves Guild back to prominence.Shes not exactly what he expects. For one, shes as mischievous as they come. For two, she flirts more than he does.For three, whats with the mask?Whats she hiding that shes so afraid of others discovering?With talk of Dragons in the plains, and the Legendary Dragonborn alive and real, its an exciting time to be alive.But frankly, Brynjolf is a little more concerned with the Guild, and working to forget that hes trying not to flirt with, murder or bed his protege.Thats not going well.





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So I have no idea what I'm doing here.. I literally got bitten by the writing bug and decided to write.  
> There will be similarities to some other excellent writers here, and I will credit them all when I get so far, with appropriate links.  
> If you want me to write more, then throw kudos and comments at me so I have a reason to come back to write more.  
> I start many things and get side tracked and I'd like to get into things more than just.. a little.  
> GIMMIE OPINIONS.

The first time he’d seen her, she was wearing some type of leather armor. Something like what the rangers wore. Her armor looked poor, well worn and repaired. When she passed him in the market selling whatever he’d been flogging that day and he addressed her, she turned to look at him out from under her hood. She wore a mask that covered her mouth and nose, but her eyes were incredible. They were a shade of dark red he’d never seen.   
She looked at him, puzzled, before her expression changed beneath her hood and she turned away from him. He stared after her, schooling his expression away from surprise as he considered what he thought he had just seen. 

Was that a wink?

 

That night, as he sat in the Bee and Barb sipping at a tankard of mead and watching Riften unwind, Talen-Jei approached and set a large tankard down on his table. He frowned. 

"What’s this?" He asked the scowling barkeep. 

"Velvet LaChance; from the lady." He replied shortly. Brynjolf frowned. 

"Lady?" He asked. The scaled head of the barkeep indicated a table in the corner. The leather clad figure from earlier in the day toasted him with her tankard. This time she did wink, and he returned the gesture with a return toast before he took an experimental sip of the drink. Talen-jei was an artist with the flavours of booze and herbs, and he’d forgotten that. By the time he’d swallowed the first sip and had decided to go join her at her table, she was nowhere to be seen. But he HAD seen her wink at him this time.   
Off to his side he heard a soft chuckle. 

"Dunmer got your tongue Bryn?" Sapphire asked. When she didn’t receive an answer, she chuckled again. "She’s almost as good as you." Licking the foam off his top lip, his eyes fixed on the door that shed apparently exited threw, he responded quietly. 

"Unlikely."

 

He didn’t think of her much over the time after that. He had a guild to support, and Skyrim had enough of it’s own events to help brush the idea of one masked wanderer from his thoughts. Rumors of dragons had been circling for the better part of a year, but a messenger from Whiterun had confirmed that one had been seen, fought and slain. He also brought news of a legend, the Dragonborn. This was apparently the only way said dragon had been defeated in the first place. Riften was seized by something far more local and interesting than dragons in the plains. 

Grelod the Kind, who was not the first with a misleading name, had been murdered in her orphanage. The hag was a terror to the orphans she attended, and her death was highly suspicious. Guards entertained themselves by suggesting to anyone they’d seen in the city prior to the death that whoever they were harassing was the potential killer, but other than the gossip no one was sorry to see the old hag go. 

When he did see the lady that had been periodically on his mind again, it was on the edge of an exciting week. The skooma suppliers to Riften had been extinguished. While that was thoroughly intriguing in itself, he found his attention arrested by the sight of a figure in leather armor making the rounds of the market with gifts? He saw her approach Brand Shei with a book, Mjoll with a sword that she almost started weeping over. Then they approached Madesi with… was that a mammoth tusk?!

Brynjolf rolled his eyes as he tried to gather interest in whatever he was flogging that day again, while subtly discerning as much as he could about this do-gooder. They carried themselves easily, making little noise in how they moved. Then a horde of orphans passed by and he lost sight of the figure. 

Huh. Being able to disappear in plain sight is always a valuable ability for those in his line of work; he attempted to find the figure again, finally spotting them again on their way past him. 

"Never done an honest day’s work for all the gold your carrying, eh lass?" He asked, hazarding a guess at the gender of the figure as the armor covered all the usual indicators of gender. They turned to look at him and he noticed the eyes at once, and the deep dark red that looked into his forest green eyes and held them. He knew at once this was the same one as before, still wearing a mask over nose and mouth, but the armor was different. He couldn’t see her hair, and inside the hood it was dark save the eyes. 

"You would know this how?" Her voice was soft, and he almost had to lean in to hear her. 

"All about sizing up your mark Lass. How they dress, how they move, it’s a dead giveaway, and wealth of any sort is entirely my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?" As his eyes got used to the level of light within her hood, he’d been able to make out the dark skin of a Dunmer, and he noted that her eyebrows were white as snow as they shot up her forehead. 

"Maybe I want a taste of more than just wealth." She said slowly, dragging her eyes down his form before slyly returning his gaze. 

That look was dangerous, and he felt the blood rush elsewhere as his mouth went dry. He returned the smirk that he was sure was hidden under the mask with one of his own. 

"Help me with my errand and it could be arranged." He responded in a low voice. He explained what he wanted, and she left to blend in with the crowd as he turned his flair onto those in the market, causing the distraction that she needed. His flair for the dramatic aside, he couldn’t get that look out of his head. Perhaps something to consider later, but for now he had an audience to wrangle. 

It didn’t even take her long to break Madesi’s lockbox under the stall. He wasn’t even finished gathering attention by the time he saw her red hooded figure stride in between the listening crowd. He began his spiel on his Falmerblood Elixer, trying not to think of how her eyes had appraised every part of him. It was interesting to see what it felt like from the other side, as he was quite fond of using that look on potential conquests. His speech barely faltered as he addressed the crowd, but he could feel the weight of her gaze on his skin. It wasn’t until he turned in the direction of Brand-Shei that he saw her in the odd armor leaning against the side of the stall and far away from her mark that he determined she was finished. Finished, and the plan had gone off without a hitch so far. 

He let himself hope, and finished his pitch. Shutting it down with enough time to watch the guards come by and demand that Brand-Shei empty his pockets. They found Madesi’s ring, just as they were supposed to. When Brynjolf turned to where he’d last seen the lass, she was gone. He resisted the urge to turn and look, thinking that she’d make herself known soon enough. Once the crowd had wandered back to business as usual, he heard her speak from behind him. 

“I was promised payment.” He turned, and let her see the smirk as he handed her a few potions that she pocketed without a word. 

“Looks like I picked the right person for the job.”

“You doubted?” he shrugged. 

“The way things have been going around here, it’s a relief that there wasn’t a hitch in picking you, or in the plan.”

“Ah, so it’s not me you doubted, it’s your luck.” He raised an eyebrow at her, watching as her eyes sparkled under the hood. 

“Cocky aren’t you.” 

“Sometimes.” Her manner shifted, and he couldn’t put his finger on how, might have been in the way that her eyes narrowed in the darkness of the hood she wore. “Explain your situation, and the relief.” 

“My organization’s been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. Never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there’s more where that came from… if you think you can handle it.” He let the offer hang in the air, watching the figure. 

“I can handle it.” He suppressed a smile at that. 

“All right then, let’s put that to the test. The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften, a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we’ll see if you’ve really got what it takes.” 

“See you there.” She strode away from him, and he watched her go. The look she’d given him earlier was still on his mind, but her manner had changed to one of business. He wondered what she looked like under the hood, and why she wore a mask. He’d heard of the assassins of the Dark Brotherhood wearing masks, but he’d never seen that armor before. It looked like something from Hammerfell, or that had been influenced by Hammerfell type styles. Shaking his head, he hurried off to the entrance to the Cistern. 

Climbing down the ladder, he felt the atmosphere of the Guild envelop him. The sound of water and arrows that Niruin was punching into training dummies was familiar and soothing. He made his way to his bed and swiftly changed into his armor and out of the damn getup he used to be a stall owner when he was topside. Shaking his shoulders, he felt the leather settle onto his skin and gave a small nod. The soft hums of the intrinsic enchantments bound to the leather were as familiar to him as the ever present running water of the cistern. He headed for the Flagon and ordered a pint from Vekel. Sitting down at the table with Delvin, he took a sip of the mead Vekel had given him and began to tell him about his new prospect.


	2. Opening Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf is impressed, terrified, hit with one liners that are usually his, and kerfuffled.   
> How did any of this happen exactly?

15 minutes later, Delvin was making Brynjolf regret having told any of them anything. 

“So our Brynjolf has gone and found himself another “Bonnie Lass” to fall for!” Delvin laughed, taking a sip from his tankard. 

“Difficult to say she’s bonnie Lass if I can’t see her face, now can I Delvin?” Brynjolf responded. 

“What do you mean Bryn?” Vekel asked, pausing from swabbing the counter down to look over at the conversationalists. 

“She wears a mask, so she might be hideous for all I know.” He swallowed a mouthful of mead before smiling. “She’s good at our line of work though.” Vekel groaned. Delvin leaned into his hand. 

“Not another one.” He muttered into his fingers. 

“Give it up Brynjolf, those days are over.”Vekel exclaimed from the bar. 

“Nah, I think this one will do just fine. She’s different.” 

“Like we haven’t heard that one before Bryn, quit kidding yourself. “ Dirge threw back over his shoulder. 

“Time to face the truth old friend,” Vekel began. “You, Vex, Mercer, you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing!” 

A soft cough brought everyone’s attention to the figure that had suddenly appeared leaning against the floor of the mezzanine that sat off the tavern area. Brynjolf grinned as he stood. 

“Dying breed eh? What do you call that then!” Her timing was impeccable, he had to give her that. He walked over, watching as she appeared to be examining the nails that peaked out from her fingerless gloves. He’d heard Dunmer referred to as “ash skins” before, but her skin was almost black. He filed that thought away for later. “Colour me impressed lass, I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again!” 

“You obviously haven’t had anyone competent approach you lately then.” Her response was cool, but he sensed a thread of humor in her tone. 

“Cocky, reliable and headstrong? You’re turning out to be quite the prize!” 

“I can attempt it, on occasion.” He couldn’t stop his mouth from beginning to pull into a smirk. 

“Since I’ve whetted your appetite with our scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?” Her posture changed, and it reminded him of a cat that was waiting for a reason to pounce. He could almost imagine a tail swishing back and forth behind her. He took her silence as a question and a request for further information. “They owe our organization some serious coin and they’ve decided not to pay. I want to explain to them the error of their ways.” Her posture changed immediately. She’d gone from bored cat waiting to pounce to coiled spring. 

“Who.” 

“Keerava, Bersi Honey-Hand and Haelga. Do this right and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization.” 

“How do you want it handled?” 

“Honestly the debt is secondary here. What’s more important is that you get the message across that we aren’t to be ignored. A word of warning though… I don’t want any of them killed. We aren’t the Dark Brotherhood, it’s bad for business.” She seemed bothered as she asked for any other details and he gave them. He lingered before dismissing her. 

“Lass, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly. She was silent for a moment. 

“I’m not an enforcer. I’ll do it now, but not again, got it?” He was taken aback, both at her manner and the words. She continued. “I can be a thief, but I’m not a bully.” She paused for a moment, taking him in. In the darkness of the Flagon, her eyes almost glowed. “I’ll get you your money.” She walked off as silently as a shadow. He stared after her, watching as she stepped from shadow into light and back into the darkness again, making nary a sound. 

“New recruit giving you trouble Bryn?” Delvin asked when he sat back down. 

“I suppose we’ll see.”

 

She’d waltzed back in not an hour later and tossed the three bags of septims on the smoothed wood of the bar beside him. She was efficient and quick. 

“Keerava, Bersi and Haelga.” She said quietly, motioning to each of the bags in turn. He stared at them, not surprised that she’d come through for him, but somehow not entirely sure the gold was real either. 

“Well done, and it would seem I owe you something in return.” He handed her a bag of gold in return. 

“So now what.” She asked in a way that felt like it should be a question, but didn’t sound like one. 

“Despite your misgivings, you handled them well. I’d say you’ve done more than prove yourself. We need more people like you in our outfit.” 

“Give me something that isn’t enforcing, if there’s gold in it, I’m in. “ He had to laugh at that, it had been too long since he worked with anyone who appeared even a little enthused by the work or the reward. 

“That’s the spirit I was looking for! Larceny’s in your blood, telltale sign of a practiced thief. I think you’ll do more than just fit in here. Come with me.” He started off towards the Cistern and half expected to at least hear her footsteps as she followed, but couldn’t hear anything. As he pushed open the secret door to the cistern, he managed to check over his shoulder and noticed her right on his tail. She was stealthy enough. 

Mercer didn’t look up as they approached, not until he had attracted the man’s attention. 

“Mercer, this is the one I was talking about. Our new recruit.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Lass tip her head to the side as she observed the Guild Master. 

“This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources Brynjolf.” Mercer growled before turning to the girl. “Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussion, you do what we say, when we say.” 

“I can handle that.” She responded coolly. “But I have my own stipulations in return.” Brynjolf turned in mild shock to the Dunmer. It was one thing to back talk to him, but Mercer was an entirely different creature. 

“What might that be?” Mercer’s tone was icy, and Brynjolf felt his insides turning to ice. This one might get killed before she was even an official member!

“You let me know with any of the jobs I do if I need to be back in a timely manner. I have other obligations as well.” She was polite enough, but Mercer had still gone still. Brynjolf snuck a look at her; her position wasn’t aggressive, but polite. She was standing her ground and not backing down. 

“Fine. Take it up with those who give you jobs.” 

“Done.” Brynjolf breathed a sigh of relief before remembering. 

“Mercer, aren’t we forgetting something?” 

“Hmm?” Mercer looked at him before returning his gaze to the figure that hadn’t shifted at all. “Ah, yes. Since Brynjolf assures me you’ll be nothing but a benefit to us, you’re in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.” He dismissed them by returning his attention to the paperwork on his desk. Brynjolf stepped down and gestured to their training room where there were extra sets of guild armor, quickly before Mercer had a chance to think about what had just happened, or before she had a chance to ask about what she was supposed to be given.

Once they had rounded the corner into the room, he rounded on her. 

“What in Oblivion was that about?” he asked. She raised one shoulder and lowered it. He could almost see her eyebrow raised under the hood. 

“Would you have preferred to find out that I’ve got other obligations when I didn’t return for a fortnight? I was being polite Brynjolf.” 

“He’s dangerous Lass, and well connected! Insubordination is one thing, but that was almost asking for trouble!” 

“And you’re not? And I’m not?” she asked, suddenly sharp. “Would you, again, prefer I disappeared on another errand for the better part of a month without telling you? Does this Guild require their members to be at everyone’s beck and call at all hours of the day? For if it does, I might as well leave now and save us both the trouble!” Her eyes had narrowed dangerously at him, and he could feel the power in that gaze. He took a breath and let it out slowly. 

“No. In fact if it weren’t addressed at Mercer, then that would have been exactly the right thing to do.” He watched her posture shift again, from angry and confrontational to a guarded sort of curiosity. 

“Why, what’s wrong with Mercer. He’s Guild Master, so he deserves to know, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t like backtalk; he’s also not the one who will be giving you most of your assignments, so he doesn’t care.” He watched as she blinked slowly under the hood. 

“Who does then?” she asked. 

“Delvin and Vex mostly, you can get small jobs from them. Bigger jobs might come from me, or Mercer.” She gave him a satisfied look. 

“So I was right to tell him.” Brynjolf threw up his hands, frustrated with trying to get her to see sense, and the danger that Mercer inherently posed most everyone if he didn’t like you. 

“Fine Lass, you were right to tell him! Next time just pick your moment so he doesn’t decide to set the Dark Brotherhood on you.” A light chuckle escaped her and he stared. 

“Did you bring me here for something else other than to yell at me?” she finally asked. He shook his head and gestured to one of the sets of armor that hung in the wardrobe in the corner. 

“Pick the one that fits the best.” He stated. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to change or not, and so he turned in order to give her some privacy. He heard some shuffling and scraping before he heard her again. 

“Got anywhere that I can put this that it will be safe?” He turned to see her holding the armor instead of wearing it. 

“Aye, we do.” He looked her over with a raised eyebrow. “Not going to wear it Lass?” 

“Maybe later, this is good for now.” He shrugged, leading her over to a bed with the accompanying chest. 

“This is yours.” She eyed the bed and the chest quietly before turning her gaze back to him.

“Didn’t realize I got a bed too.” 

“We take care of our own.” He said gruffly. “It even comes with a chest.” 

“Got one of those already.” 

It took him a moment to figure out what she was referring too, and he had to stop himself from snorting. 

“Are you sure Lass? It’s difficult to tell under all that armor.” His voice had gone back to sultry and lowered, and suggestive. 

“Nice try Brynjolf.” She cut him off before turning and pinning his gaze with hers. “Where exactly are these Vex and Delvin characters. I want jobs.” 

 

An hour or so later, she’d managed to charm Delvin, annoy Vex without trying too, give Vekel a decent chunk of coin for a round of mead for those assembled and a meal for herself, and start a betting war on which of the other younger thieves would manage to pass out from drink first, which had immediately started a drinking game. Vekel was thrilled at the sudden impact on his business and gave her ale on the house. She’d managed to get jobs from Delvin, Vex, and surprisingly Vekel.   
While whatever festivities were going on behind her, she managed to somehow ignore them as she stared down at the stew that Vekel had served her. 

“Not to your taste Lass?” Brynjolf asked as he slid into the seat next to her. He watched as she jumped a little, apparently not having expected anyone to approach her. 

“Oh no, it smells wonderful. I’m just…” she trailed off, and Brynjolf let her take her time before he prompted her. 

“Yes Lass?” She still paused. He could almost see her worrying her lip under her mask. 

“I’m considering how to eat this, without taking off the mask.” She finally forced out.

“So take it off then.” He offered, tipping back more of the mead. 

“No.” Her answer was quiet, but serious. 

“Why not?” he asked, curious. “We won’t bite; we’re basically all family down here.” She stayed still, and he waited for some sort of response. Finally she turned to him, and he noticed her eyes sparkling. 

“So you don’t bite do you?” she asked, her garnet eyes sparkling. He choked as the mead he was drinking was inhaled instead of swallowed. His coughing was noticed by Delvin who called out as she gave him a firm thumping on the back to help clear his airways. 

“Oi, Brynjolf! Quit breathing your mead!” he bellowed. It didn’t take him long to clear his airways, but when he did, he fixed her with an unimpressed glare. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand that showed off shadow grey fingers curving over her face as she let loose an amused giggle. He blinked; a giggle was not something he’d expected out of this one. She just didn’t seem the type to giggle. 

“I might bite you now.” He threatened, leaning in suddenly close to her. She didn’t flinch or move away, but she did raise a snow white eyebrow under the hood. 

“You assume I wouldn’t bite back.” She lifted the edge of her mask and swiftly covered her face with a tankard of mead. His tankard of mead, the one he’d just realized that she’d stolen from his hands as he’d leaned into her. He felt his jaw fall open as she finished his drink and set the empty tankard back in his hands, letting the black slip of cloth fall back down over her chin as she did. 

“You stole my drink.” He said matter of factly. 

“And?” she prompted, dipping a spoon in the bowl of stew and delicately moving the mask out of the way to deliver it to her mouth. She wouldn’t let him see more than a sliver of grey skin under the mask. It was obvious she was a Dunmer, none of the other races in Skyrim had skin the colour of shadows like that, but it was the first time that he’d seen a Dunmer with such dark skin. “I’m a thief, it’s what I do.” 

“But you stole my drink.” He repeated. He did manage to see her roll her eyes. 

“You act like I stole it out of your pocket.”

“You stole it out of my hands.” He protested. 

“Is that better or worse?” 

“Thieves don’t steal from thieves.” 

“True...” she paused thoughtfully before hailing Vekel. “Another one for Brynjolf, please Vekel.” She pulled a few septims from her purse to cover it. He gaped at her. Behind them he heard Delvin chuckle. 

“I like her.” Brynjolf turned around in his seat and gave Delvin a scathing look. 

“She stole my drink!” he protested. Delvin hid his grin behind his own tankard as Brynjolf looked back at her again. “OI!” he shouted, as he noticed that she was busy downing the drink she’d bought for him. Vekel was amused as he set down another tankard in front of the frustrated nord. 

“She bought two.” The barman explained as the woman set hers down and wiped her mouth behind the mask. 

“You’re welcome.” She said, obviously grinning behind the mask. He gave her a disbelieving look, still unsure what had just happened. “Yes, the second in command of the Thieves Guild just got tricked by a newbie, and suddenly this is news?” 

“Now I really like her!" Delvin proclaimed before Vex slapped him upside the head. 

"Shut up old man. Let them alone." The infiltrator muttered. Obediently, whilst still grinning like a fool, Delvin turned away from the two at the bar and back to his meal. Brynjolf finally picked up his drink, hiding it behind his arms as if that would keep it safe from her quick fingers. 

"You’re a cocky mischievous little firebrand aren’t you?" He finally asked, keeping her in his gaze as now he really didn’t trust her if he couldn’t see her. She shrugged. 

"I’ve been called far worse than that. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to let it out, being alone for so long doesn’t give you many to play." 

"What did you do before this then?" He asked. She placed a finger in front of where her lips would be, her eyes sparkling under the hood. 

"Maybe later I’ll tell you." She finished the mead shed bought him, stolen and claimed as her own. "Is there protocol for what recruits do after they’re inducted?" She asked as he carefully took a sip of the drink shed bought him. 

"Usually they don’t take jobs as quickly. Usually there’s some time where I figure out what needs to be fine tuned, or straight up learned, before we send them anywhere." 

"Well," she began. "If you need to ensure that I’m competent, the jobs I’ve got are in Riften, so you could come with and ensure I’m a credit to the Guild, or..." she paused, thinking. "Or if you’re worried about my other skills that aren’t lock picking and sneaking, then I have an errand to run that probably showcases my skills better." She leaned in close to him and he could almost tell the conspiratorial smile that was under the mask by her tone alone. "Want to get out of Riften for a day Brynjolf?" 

"What’s in it for me?" He said blandly, his mind suddenly going a mile a minute thinking of all the things that “getting out of Riften” could end up meaning. He had to reign himself in with a conscious thought. She wasn’t suggesting a tumble because she was suggesting getting out of the city damn it! But then his thought process crashed and restarted with a different idea. What if she was suggesting that? His serious consideration that he obviously needed to find a way to get his mind on track again, (or someone to help with the process) was interrupted as he attempted to catch up with what she’d been saying. 

"-Adventure, getting out of the sewers for a day, and out of the market selling faulty potions?" She asked, closing her fingers as she listed off the reasons. "You get to see what I can do somewhere more interesting than a training room, we manage to keep the roads clear so more merchandise can get to Riften, and I’ll give you half of the bounty from the Jarl for the work.” 

“Fine, fine.” He was obviously not thinking straight. The mead and the mild flirting hadn’t helped his obvious pent up emotions. 

“Excellent. I’ll meet you by the graveyard in the morning!” she responded cheerily as she slid off the stool she was perched on and strode off towards the Cistern. 

Wait, what? What had he just agreed too?

“What did I miss?” he asked Vekel, who gave him a confused glance. 

“You’re going off with her in the morning to evaluate her skills.” The barman stated. “Weren’t you listening?” 

“Yes, but did she say where we were going?” Vekel shrugged. 

“No idea.” 

Well, shit. What had just happened? 

Brynjolf stood, shaking his head. Apparently he needed to find bed or a companion for the night, or both. Though he knew that if he took any woman into any bed, he’d be so distracted that neither of them would enjoy it. What in Oblivion had knocked him off his game exactly? He usually was quick as a whip at keeping himself together, even with a few drinks. 

Deciding that bed was the smarter idea, he let his feet guide him back to the small alcove in the Cistern that contained his bed and the chest of most of his possessions. He didn’t even think twice before pulling off his boots and falling into bed. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.


	3. Adventure Awaits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf and the as of yet unnamed newest recruit go off on the adventure that somehow he agreed to go on.   
> A different way to assess her skills becomes something else.

She hadn’t slept in the Cistern. That had been apparent when Brynjolf had rolled out of bed when his internal clock signaled morning. He’d splashed his face with the cool water that gathered in the basin in the Cistern, and looked around at his mismatch family still mostly asleep in their beds. He let his eyes rest on each of the figures in the beds around the walls, taking a mental inventory. Most of them were still, but the formerly empty bed that had been given to the new recruit, remained empty. He wondered where she had gone if she hadn’t slept here.

She was a bit jumpy around people; he suspected that she’d been a loner for so long that it might be difficult for her to decide to sleep amongst a bunch of people she barely knew. Proclaiming then to be family because they were all part of the guild was one thing, but when you were new to that dynamic it would probably be intimidating.

He fell back onto his bed as he stared up at the bricks in the ceiling. The mask was weird. Who wore a mask for fun? What was she hiding? Was she that hideous? He blinked at the ceiling and pulled his hands down over his eyes. Wow, he really needed to go blow off some steam if every thought he had about her was appearance based.

If he was honest with himself, the blowing steam off had less to do with her and everything to do with the Guild. He wanted it back on its feet. He wanted his odd family to be prosperous again. He wanted their luck to turn.

That worry had been sitting in his gut for so long that it was little wonder to him that it had mostly surfaced as desire. Going for a tumble with beautiful women was an easy way to blow off steam, almost as good as a good skin fight. But tumbling usually came with conquest, and usually a good night had by both parties.

His mind brought up the image of what might be under her armor. Supple smooth skin, or would it be covered in scars? Would there be muscles that he could feel moving underneath skin as she writhed against him?

Talos above, this was way more than he’d expected his mind to go, and he squashed the errant thoughts with a significant effort. He didn’t even know her name!

That thought struck him like a punch in the gut. Had he really not even asked her her name? He’d gotten away with calling her Lass so far? That was… rather disappointing on his part. He was suddenly caught with a flush of shame that made its way as a blush across his cheeks. Grateful that no one was up and able to see that; he rolled over and sat up with a groan. First order of business, boots, breakfast and gathering supplies for whatever “adventure” that he was going to on today. After that, he could see if his new recruit was awake and in the place she had declared would be where they would meet.

 

 

15 minutes later, a pack on his shoulder, an apple or two in his pockets, and still munching the last of the bread and cheese he’d taken from the Cistern kitchen, he pulled the chain for the secret entrance to the Guild and climbed the steps.

Something was tapping. He froze, wondering if he’d been made, and inadvertently given away the secret to the guild entrance, but the tapping didn’t stop. He thought it might be a woodpecker of some sort of bird. Stepping silently, he moved into the soft light of morning, senses alert for something that might not be a bird insistently looking for its own breakfast.

“You’re late.” The soft voice spooked him, and he had to work hard not to jump. He noticed the tapping had stopped.

Coming around the side of the mausoleum that housed the false crypt that doubled as the entrance to the guild, Brynjolf saw the masked recruit from yesterday. Today her leather Hammerfell inspired getup was replaced by something that was very obviously Bosimer in origin. This type of armor he had seen before however, and he recognized the Bosimer Engraved Armor that was a rare creation of Balimund the smith.

It fit her well. The cuirass was leather with engraved strips that followed the lines of her ribs. The hood was of the same make, black and brown leather. She still wore gloves, but he recognized them, and the boots. He felt the side of his mouth curve up into a slight grin. The guild looked good on her.

“Decided to try the Guild armor on for size after all eh Lass?” he asked. She shrugged.

“That could be inferred.”

“What might your name be?” She flinched, a question she didn’t expect. Her head turned to him, a cautious look in her eyes.

“You’ve known me a day, now you feel the need to ask me my name?”

The accusation cut him, but he tried not to show it. He allowed a flush of shame to cross his face so she knew that he wasn’t entirely immune to the consequences of his bad behavior.

“I failed to ask earlier Milady, forgive me for my lack of manners.” He bowed politely, holding the position until acknowledged by her. She let him hang for a moment, just long enough to become uncomfortable. He was going to look up at her when he heard a slight chuckle. The sound of her sliding off the roof of the mausoleum was unmistakable. She returned his courtly bow with a curtsy of her own, one that would have looked exactly correct in the court of Jarl Law-Bringer. He was surprised. Where had she learned court manners?

This woman was turning into more of a puzzle by the hour.

“Aylin.” She spoke quietly, looking almost a little frightened of the sounds she was making. “My name is Aylin.” He leaned in and took her hand from where she had placed it in the air. Lightly grasping it, he brought it to his lips and allowed them to graze the glove she was wearing. He could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the leather.

“A pleasure, Milady Aylin.” His tone was low, and he watched her eyes widen quickly before she pulled away. If there were points in this game they were playing, he had just scored one. She pulled away from him, clearing her throat as she did so.

“Are you ready?”

“For?”

“Our adventure?” she asked. He could almost hear her eyebrow being raised.

“What about the jobs you took from Vex and Delvin?”

“Already done.”

“Right.. wait, what?” he asked, his mind catching up to what she’d said. “You already completed all of the jobs they gave you last night?” She let loose a sigh.

“Yes Brynjolf, all of the four jobs were in Riften, and everyone is easier to pick pocket when they’re sleeping.”

“Where’s the loot then?” he asked, looking around her for a bag or something for her to carry the materials in. All he saw was a small bag that hung under the cloak on her back.

“I put it in the Flagon with notes. They’ll know.” He felt his eyebrows lift. Alright then, she was on the ball. That was more than most of the new thieves had ever been. He was impressed, but ensured not to show it. She didn’t need to know that her actions had put her ahead of anyone else of the new blood in the guild.

“So where are we going then?” he asked, shouldering his pack. He watched as her eyes crinkled in the corners before she turned towards the east gate out of Riften.

“We’ve got a fort to clean out, Faldar’s Tooth.”

 

“Why are a couple of thieves taking out bandits for the Jarl?” he asked as they started towards the fort on the edge of Lake Honrich.

“Bandits stop commerce and the movement of goods. Movement of goods and gold being stopped means there’s less to steal. Poorer marks make for poor pickings. Cleaning bandits off the roads is just a good business practice if you want your area to get rich enough to be worth robbing.” She replied, pulling an ebony bow from the pack on her back. A quiver of arrows was already peeking out from the opposite shoulder that the cloak covered. Brynjolf peered around her back at the small pack.

“Where did you get that?” She half turned around to see what she’d missed.

“What, the bow?”

“The bag.” He clarified. She kept her eyes on the path and the surrounding areas, watching for anything that could cause them harm. Not that he was being idle either, but the opportunity to scrutinize her more thoroughly than he’d had a chance too was not something he was willing to give up.

“Heirloom.” She replied shortly and Brynjolf nodded, he knew a cue to not ask further when he heard it.

As they walked, he watched as her right hand began glowing with a pinkish hue. He raised a ginger eyebrow at her.

“You know magic?” he asked as she scanned the woodlands around them.

“It’s a detect life spell. I can figure out if there’s anything around here that means us harm. So long as it’s technically classified as alive-“her explanation was cut off as she tackled him to the side. He felt wind brush against the side of his face as he went down to the ground in a crouch. He heard chittering and recognized the telltale sound of a Frostbite Spider. “Bastard arachnids.” He heard her hiss as he grabbed for a dagger on his belt with one hand, and a throwing knife with the other. His view was filled by the sight of a quickly approaching large arachnid, and he let the knife fly towards his target. One of the far too many eyes burst with the blade in it. Two more eyes popped as two arrows found their ways to the creature. He heard what would be described as screeching, if the spider had the ability to make such noises. It was close enough to rake with both the glass and ebony daggers he used. The spider reared up to take a bite down on him, and he caught the pincers with the daggers. Frostbite venom dripped down the blades as he held it back from taking a sizeable bite out of his shoulder.

He smelled burning fur as the spider suddenly pulled away from him and rounded on the dunmer. She was flinging fire bolts at it now, and with its back turned Brynjolf took the opportunity to score some deep hits into its abdomen. It spat another venomous projectile at her, and he caught her diving out of the way of its poison before throwing three more fireballs at it.

Apparently the fire had done more than a little damage, as he managed to sink his daggers into its back again only for the arachnid to slump forward onto the ground. He pulled his daggers out of the stinking corpse, his nose wrinkling at the smell. She slung the bow she’d been using over her shoulder as she approached the beast, pulling a vial from her belt as she came.

She pulled the arrows she’d shot into its flesh from the mangled carcass, and drained its pincers of the venom it used to spit at them.

“Thanks.” He breathed, a little out of breath.

“No problem. Did it get you?” she asked, her eyes roving over his armor without the seductive look she’d given him the day before. He gave himself a once over, testing the muscles in his arms before pulling a rag he kept for cleaning his blades from his belt. His armor was scored a bit where the pincers had scratched the leather before he’d gotten his daggers up, but beyond that, no real damage.

“It appears not Lass.” He eyed her. “That spell is rather useful.” He observed, and she shrugged.

“Spells and magicka are good tools if you can use them.”

 

 

The fort itself wasn’t heavily guarded, just a smattering of bandits who wandered the walls shouting at whatever they saw. Having dispatched a few of the ones that wandered the far side, he discovered that she had excellent climbing skills; and she scaled an old wall as easily as he could shimmy up a tree. She even let down a rope for him when he couldn’t get himself up the wall without help. His questioning look made her waggle her fingers at him. He took that to mean she was used to climbing walls. There wasn’t any amusement or satisfaction in her eyes as she did so, so he hoped that meant she wasn’t laughing at him.   


Their attention was taken by more guards as they found their kin stuck full of arrows. As the wary and angry bandits pulled out heavy steel weapons and went charging around aimlessly, the two thieves crept behind one of the tents that overlooked the courtyard.

Calmly, she pulled out a vial of poison and dipped a few arrows in it and handed them to him as he unslung his own bow. She repeated the action with some of her arrows and some of her own throwing knives. Noticing his questioning eyebrow, she shook her head and returned her gaze to the wandering bandits that had returned to their guard rotation.

Two arrows left her string in short succession, and two bandits crumpled in their walking, spikes having grown from their throats. He kept his opinions to himself, but inwardly he was impressed with her resourcefulness, sneaking ability, and general method of doing business. She was good with a bow, but as of yet he hadn’t seen her use anything up close and personal.

An hour later, he’d decided that as useful as some magicka was, he didn’t like her conjurations much, he appreciated the detect life spell, and was highly grateful for her apparent endless selection of poisons. Stamina poisons worked well on the big brutes with the two handed monster blades, but he adored that magicka poison and wondered how many septims that beauty cost. She had no issue combing through all the creatures they slaughtered and their pockets for anything useful or shiny, and she collected all the food, books and alchemy ingredients she could. They were both sick of dogs, and anything canine related.

It was obvious that Faldar’s Tooth doubled as a spot where those inclined could use it as a betting spot on dog fights. Even the cook had been frustrated with the amount of meat and dogs he was required to deal with, as they found grilled leaks on the floor and his journal nearby plates of raw dog meat. As she cleaned out all the food in the kitchen and read the last entry in the journal that had been the cooks, she chuckled. Brynjolf looked up from his crouch and she tossed it to him.   


"Last entry. I hope he found a new job." She was already turned away and cleaning out the cabinets of anything useful. He put the journal down on the table and followed her. When they had to double back, he found that it had been removed, and her cloak fluttered as it did when she’d slipped something in or out of the bag under it. 

He’d almost given up on managing seeing her do anything with a blade that was up close and personal, but when they encountered a bunch of wolves with their handlers. Two went down with arrows in their eyes; another dog went down with a throwing knife in his maw. They split off to take out the angry residents.

Brynjolf finished his set of interlopers first. He turned to see how she was fairing and was impressed to see her keeping 2 ax wielding brutes at bay. Silver sleek dagger in one hand and a matching sword in the other, she danced between the two as they slashed at her. Every time she cut with the saber, the man she cut dropped for a few seconds. Could that be a paralysis potion? The dagger left black cuts on the men as they swore at her, and he could have sworn he watched a red mist move from them to her. Maybe a health draining enchantment?

She moved as if she were dancing, dodging blood splatters and steel that flew towards her head. Finally, having managed to stab one of her assailants badly enough he wasn’t going to attack her again, she pulled her saber across the others throat, standing there panting as the redgaurd bandit fell to the ground. His minor awe at the grace with which she moved was fleeting as she frantically called his name.

"Brynjolf!" She shouted and pointed behind him as he felt the punch of an arrow threw his shoulder. He turned to his assailant only to watch the archer crumple, a dagger between their eyes.

He stumbled back into the wall, letting the solid mass behind him take his weight and allowed himself to slide down to the floor. He eyed the arrow, looked ebony from the fletching. How was some second class bandit enforcer able to get hold of ebony arrows? How was a second class enforcer able to take out him, the second of the thieves’ guild? Better question, why was one lone arrow able to knock him down? He had taken arrows to the shoulder before; it didn’t knock him down as hard as this one was.

But he also felt the reason for why this arrow had hit him so hard, snaking through his veins. He felt her grabbing his other shoulder and trying to get his attention.

"Brynjolf. Can you hear me?"

"Aye lass I can." He looked up at her and saw concern barely leashed in her eyes. Was he that badly hurt? "Do you think there are more?" She spun with one hand raised and covered in a pink glow. After scanning in all directions, the glow faded and she turned back to him, her ryes now scanning the arrow and the armor.

"I think that’s the last of them. You already took out the leader." He blinked; torchlight was fuzzy at the edges suddenly.

"I did?" He asked. What was wrong with him?

"Heavily armored bugger." She nodded to the side over her shoulder but her eyes were focused intently on the wound. "I need to get you somewhere safer so I can bandage this properly." She shuffled hurriedly in her bag and pulled out a red potion vial. "Drink this. I want to check this place is clean, bandage that a little and then get you out of here. Can you manage for 5 minutes?" He gave her an unamused grimace in response.

"I’m sure I could manage for a moment mother." She didn’t even grin. Her eyes were entirely earnest. She also didn’t reply, she was just up and gone as he blinked.

The world was getting fuzzier around the edges. Nothing looked like it had a defined line anymore, it all looked smudged. Brynjolf looked at the potion in his hand and regarded it curiously. He knew he should drink this, but he was so tired... He’d just close his eyes for a moment.

"Hey!" He felt a light slap across his face. Shaking awake, he watched the red eyes come into focus. The top of her mask had been cut, so had her hood. He watched as blood trickled from the rather large cut to the bridge of her nose.

"Yer bleedin lass." His tongue felt heavy. Why was he so tired?

"You’re worse off than me." She muttered, checking the arrow again. Swearing under her breath, she tore a strip off her cloak and wrapped it around his shoulder. Shredding more of the cape, she bunched the fabric around the wound before looking up at him. He was regarding her threw forest green eyes, and beyond looking like he was heavily in shock, he looked thoughtful. "I need to break the shaft so it doesn’t jostle while we get you out of here. I’ll take you where all my supplies are and well get you fixed up. That alright?" She braced the makeshift padding around the bottom of the shaft. "This’ll hurt." He gestured broadly with his other hand.

"Like so many other things in life Lass, go on."

"Brace up." She broke it, and he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a bitten curse. Wadding the cloth into a pad, she used other tear offs from the scraps she was wearing to bandage around the rest of the shaft. She helped him to his feet and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders to help keep him steady. "Let’s get you safe Master Thief."

As they got out of the fort, she made sure he drank the potion he’d fallen asleep before he’d gotten to drink. He seemed a bit steadier than he had been, but he was sweating threw his armor.

"How do you feel?" She asked. He looked at her sideways, a pained grin making his lip curve upward.

"Cold, and like I got punched by a spike."

"Accurate.” she responded, her tone took on a note of sharpness. "What exactly were you looking at that you couldn’t keep an eye on what might have been sneaking up on you?"

"The only good looking swordswoman in the fort." He waited for a response but none came.

"Next time pay attention to the ones that are looking to be lethal." As if he’d been commenting on the weather.

"You're pretty lethal. Besides, they’re all ugly bastards. Why do you smell burnt?" He asked. Inside the fort, the world had looked smudged and fuzzy. Out in the purple edges of twilight, anything outside of the next step was a mess of colour and shadow. Details at any distance were difficult to make out, but he could see the damage her armor had taken. He noticed that she smelled like lightning, burnt leather and singed blood. She was also breathing with a slight wheeze.

"Worry about keeping your feet under you." She responded, her eyes ahead of her.

"Where are we going? Guild?" He asked. She snorted.

"And give Mercer another reason to hate me? I think not."

"Mercer doesn’t hate you" he protested weakly. He felt like his center of gravity was wobbling and he leaned on her more to keep upright. She took his weight without complaint, just a grunt of exertion.

"Want to try that again without blatantly lying to my face?" She asked wryly. He thought about it for a moment, in between steps. The wound was hurting worse than it had been, and he could feel the odd drop of blood begin to drip down and soak his shirt.

"Mercer isn’t friendly with anyone. He doesn’t like the new thieves until they prove themselves, and even then he’s not exactly nice."

"Was he ever?"

"He came to power under difficult circumstances. After that, the guilds been having issues."

"That doesn’t answer my question." He considered for another moment, but he was so damned tired. Why was he so exhausted?

"He used to be friendlier i guess."

"Hmm."

"So does this mean you’re taking me back to your place then?" He felt an amused grin curl on his lips as he tried to keep her in focus.

“Focus on walking Brynjolf.”

“But it’s more fun to focus on you.”

“You have a fever and you’re flirting.” She spoke in a deadpan.

“You never answered my question.”

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” Riften was within sight, although it might have been in sight for a while and he just missed it, it was difficult to tell at this point. To his eyes it was just one big blur of degrees of shadow and light.

“I think I’ll be alright.”

“You will be. I’ve got potions and ingredients to-“

“With you I mean.” His interruption was made all the more poignant by the raw honesty in his voice. She didn’t respond for a long time.

“You don’t even know me.” She whispered. Somehow he caught the sound of it, and he was grateful to have.

“Maybe not well today, but one day, perhaps. I think I’ll be alright.” His voice was faint to his ears, and he wondered why night had fallen so quickly today. He felt so tired…

“Hey, Brynjolf? Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER.   
> I never do these, so this is new to me ^^.   
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments you lovely people have left so far.   
> I will be trying to keep writing as much as I can, but unfortunately, my luck at work has run out.   
> I am sometimes able to work with giant paper rolls. While the machine runs, I can get out a few words.   
> But I'm also apparently super efficient at doing paper, so my entire truckload is finished now, which sucks as I have more to write.   
> Anyway, enjoy!


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing, Food & Trust Excersises

She was going to kill him.

That or she was going to demand he pay for two new potions of hauling to replace the ones she’d used carrying his heavy ass home. He was two hundred pounds of weaponry, leather and muscle. He was lucky they’d been so close to the entrance to Honeyside!

She’d managed to get him up the stairs of the side entrance to her house without knocking his head on anything or jostling the arrow shaft worse than it was, but she could feel his blood on her, and her own injuries were made worse with the carrying. The potions had helped, thank Azura.

Once inside, she’d put him down as gently as she could down in a chair before scurrying about and gathering her kit of healing supplies. A blanket or 3 she didn’t mind getting dirty over the bedspread, before she downed another potion of hauling so she could move him to the bed proper. Dropping her bag to the side and divesting herself of the cuirass with all speed, the black cotton shirt she wore was slick with blood in more than a few places. She could deal with her own wounds later.

Thanking the divines for the fact she’d only blanked the fire and hadn’t let it go out entirely, she threw wood into the hearth and cast flames into it. Water went into the cauldron for wash clothes and bandages. She ran down the stairs and dove for the satchel of alchemy supplies and the mortar and pestle from the alchemy station before sprinting back to her bed.

He looked pained as she unbuckled his cuirass as gently as she could. Pulling off her gauntlets, she felt his forehead with her bare hand and clicked her tongue. He was far too warm for her liking. A bowl of water she’d filled she magicked to float over to her with a telekinesis spell and she dipped clean linen in the cool liquid, laying the soaked fabric on his forehead to help bring down the fever.

Searching in her satchel, she found the cure poison remedy she’d been hanging onto before she popped the cork and tipped a small amount into his mouth. He didn’t choke, thankfully, and she summoned a spoon from breakfast earlier with the telekinesis spell again. She fed him sips of the potion until it was gone, and she hoped it would help.

 

 

With all luck, he would be out of immediate danger now. She focused on pulling the cuirass of the guild armor he wore off of his skin. He wore a beige shirt akin to hers under it. Around his left shoulder, the shirt was stained in blood. She let her eyes fall shut and took a deep breath.

She pulled the ebony dagger he wore at his belt and used it to cut his shirt away from his skin. His ribs were coloured in purple and red. When had he gotten hit there? She hadn’t noticed him getting attacked much. _Damn it_. Filing that thought away for later, she focused on the arrow wound.

“Sorry Brynjolf.” She muttered under her breath, bracing some clean linen around the shaft before grabbing the arrow and pulling it out of his shoulder as straight as she could. The sound it made was enough to make her gorge rise as it pulled free from muscle and sinew. The sound he made as it was removed from his flesh, even while unconscious, made her heart ache. Blood bubbled from the wound, and she pushed the linen over it to absorb the liquid. Concentrating, she began a spell of healing. She called on her diminished amount of magicka to push as much healing into him as she could.

She stopped to down a magicka potion and to gather the pot of boiling water she’d started on the fire. Pulling the linen away from the wound, she noticed with relief that the skin had sealed over the wound. There was still an angry mark that required more work, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

Dipping some more clean linen into the hot water, she cooled it with some of the cold from the original bowl of liquid. Cleaning away the blood from his wound, it was easier to see how it was healing. Aylin breathed a sigh of relief before wondering how her nose was faring. She had been ignoring the pain of her own wounds to get him sorted, but now that she had a moment to breath, it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to check them.

In a mirror hidden in one of the wardrobes that had been included in the bedroom fittings she’d purchased with the house, she pulled the mask away from her face to see how the wound was on the bridge of her nose.

The blade she’d encountered had neatly cut into the skin, and probably cone or cartilage. She thought with some satisfaction of the blood that probably was still on her justicar sword from that particular attempted assassin. Wincing at the thought of her blades still having blood on them, she pushed it to the back of her to do list.

Downing a potion of healing, she looked in the bag of everything important that she kept with her for another mask. The one she’d worn today was not going to do the job she wished for it to do.

Looking back in the mirror, she checked the wound on the bridge of her nose. It had healed thanks to the potion, but it left a large pink scar across the top of where her mask usually fit. She wrinkled her nose as she checked how that would look. It looked like she had a scar under her mask, is what she decided, and to hells with anyone who said anything about it.

She needed a bath. Her snow white hair was speckled in blood, and she could feel sweat, blood and grime all over her body. Her comfort could wait.

Her ribs had healed, and for that she was grateful. Warhammers tended to hurt when they impacted ribs even when wearing light armor. She had misjudged where the damn bandit chief had been. She’d been too hurried to take the sneaky route to dispatching bandits, and had discovered that shields were helpful in trying to take the direct approach, directly after having the swing of a warhammer impact her blades and feeling the power of that swing in her arms. Next time she’d pack a shield.

Maybe she’d tell him that she’d taken out another 5 bandits, 3 of which had been mages, but probably not.

She slid down to her knees beside her bed and lit her hands with a healing spell in each palm. Placing both of the glowing palms over the wound, she let the magicka flow threw her skin and into his.

His temperature was still overly warm, but his skin was wet with perspiration. She hoped that the cure poison potion she’d spooned him would put an end to the fever. Her eyes skimmed over his skin as she pushed her magicka stores to the extents of their limits.

For a nord, he was rather attractive. His chest was dotted with scars, some of them from other arrows, some long and jagged. They had probably been caused by blades of some description. Muscles rippled under his skin, and she smiled wryly at what some of the girls she’d once known would have said about him. He had a light dusting of ginger chest hair over his sternum, which was interesting, as from what she’d seen and heard, most nords tended to be covered in hair. But, she considered her extremely limited experience, and the fact that any other information had come from gossip.

What he’d said before he passed out kept tumbling around in her head. _I think I’ll be alright with you._ Why would he say that? What would have given him that thought? He was feverish, and that usually made a person say odd things, but he had said it with such conviction, as if he could trust her with anything.

Her lips pursed as she looked up at his face from where she knelt beside him. He looked peaceful now, which was a nice change from the pained look he’d been sporting when she’d lowered him onto the bed. She could feel his body pulling at the healing she was feeding it, and noticed that the bruises to his ribs were yellow as opposed to being the red and purple of earlier. Progress.

She worked until she was out of magicka again, and slumped over the bed and his prone body. She forgot how exhausted extended magicka use made her. She looked out the window, wondering if she had time to go buy him a new shirt. It was dark, so probably not. Damnit.

Her stomach rumbled, and she sighed as she stood. Brynjolf was sleeping peacefully on her bed. She covered him with a soft blanked she’d managed to barter for in Whiterun so that he’d be warm.

She walked over to the fire and her small kitchen, wondering what she could cook in order to satisfy her aching stomach and probably his too.

Some tea was brewed and put into a pot for when she felt thirsty. Venison stew was soon cooking away in the cauldron over the fire. Something hearty that they could hopefully both enjoy. She pulled out some of the spiced mead she’d nicked from the seller in Solitude, and set it out to warm to the side of the fire. Nothing was better than Evette San’s spiced wine when she needed to calm down. Maybe one day she’d actually pay the poor woman for what she’d been drinking since she discovered the drink.

Maybe… but probably not.

She checked her patient’s temperature in between stirring the stew. He was back to some semblance of normal, or so she thought. It wasn’t as if she actually knew what normal temperature for humans was, and warmth was something she was generally resistant too. He no longer was sweating as profusely, so she took it as a good sign. She pulled the blanket down and away from his wound to check it again. It didn’t look infected, and appeared to be significantly more healed in comparison to the last time she’d inspected it. It would probably need some more work and another potion on his part, as well as some time for it to finish healing before he’d be able to use that arm and joint at the same capacity as he had been able too.

She frowned as she was suddenly reminded of something. From where she’d hurriedly removed her armor, weapons and pack, she extricated her blades and arrows. She set them down in front of the fire where she’d been sitting and returned to her patient.

She’d forgotten to take off his boots. That couldn’t be comfortable, sleeping in the heavy leather footwear. Gently as ever, she slipped his feet out of the boots and set them under the bed before tucking him back under the blanket again.

For a moment, she just sat and observed the beautiful woodwork that made up the bed. Aylin didn’t know if she’d ever had a bed this nice before, and she mused with a wry grin that the second night she owned it, it was hosting another. Ah well, at least it was being enjoyed.

A groan made her perk up her pointed ears. She rose and found a cup that she added some of the water she’d gathered and boiled the day before to drink. She returned to the bed and waited to see if he would awaken.

 

Brynjolf felt like he was dreaming. He was comfortable, and warm. He could smell something delicious being cooked. When had he last eaten? It felt like a lifetime ago. A fire snapped in the background and he thought that that was an odd sound in the Cistern. Wasn’t the Cistern usually full of water?

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at wooden beams instead of grimy brick. That was different. Where was he?

“How are you feeling?” a soft voice to his left made him wonder if he’d fallen asleep underground and was dreaming. Either that or he’d bedded some lass and was awakening in her bed. He tried to push himself up when pain flared in his left shoulder. “Easy, easy.” Someone was helping him sit up and helped situate him against the headboard. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was grateful for the help. His shoulder ached like he’d used it to take out a door. A shock of white in his peripheral vision made him look towards it.

White hair lay overtop of black skin. It had two small braids running over the top of her head and two more that began just under the tips of the pointed black ears and joined the rest of her hair in a wavy long mess that fell down her back. It was the first time he’d actually seen her hair at all, so it took him looking at her eyes and the mask before he remembered what had happened. She handed him a clay cup of water, and he took it gratefully. It took a sip or two before he felt like his voice wouldn’t come out as a croak.

“How’s the shoulder?” she asked.

“Still sore.” He responded truthfully. Her eyes flicked to the wound.

“Right, give me a moment.” She said, getting up from the floor. She moved over to where she’d dropped her pack, and pulled it open, digging into it for something. As she searched, he took the opportunity to observe her features without the hood.

She had a silver cuff that glittered on the shell of her ear. She wore a black shirt, which was not unlike his own. Like her armor, it gave nothing away of her shape. His eyes traced the line of what appeared to be a scar of the wound across the bridge of her nose she’d gotten earlier. It looked angry and not entirely healed. It made the mask more prominent, black on red-pink. He finished the cup of water as she returned with another vial of healing potion.

“Drink this.” She held it out for him, taking the cup from his hands to refill and stir the stew. He downed the potion, feeling the chalky tasting liquid warm his insides and lessen some of the residual pain. As the potion did its work, he took stock of himself and his surroundings. Two wardrobes were around the bed, two nightstands, a chest at the end of the bed and one on a table beside the door to his right. There were stairs that appeared to lead downstairs to the right, and a kitchen area in front of him. She stood at the cauldron, spooning out two bowls and dragging another chair over to in front of the fire. “I’ve got nothing of any value I swear. You could take a look in everything if you’re curious, but I’ve nothing worth the Thieves Guild’s attention.” She explained as she set the bowls down and grabbed a bottle of something from the edge of the hearth. As she walked over to one of the cupboards to look for something else, possibly spoons, Brynjolf examined the wound on his shoulder.

It looked much better than he’d ever expected, and now that the potion had been consumed, the ache had gone down significantly as well. He also noticed that his dagger and sheath was on the nightstand beside the candle that was lit, and his shirt had been neatly slit from his shoulder to his waist.

“Couldn’t wait for me to get out of my clothes Lass?” he grinned at her. He could have sworn she rolled her eyes as she placed what looked like a bottle of black briar mead beside a chair.

“With the amount of blood you lost, I’m surprised you can think with that brain.” She responded in a deadpan.

“I can always think, although at the moment my stomach is thinking the loudest.”

“I had a feeling that would be the case.” She looked over at him, and her eyes suggested that she wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Do you… need a hand?” Swinging himself out of bed, _her bed,_ he stood and walked gingerly over to the chairs.

“I can still walk Lass.” He responded, not giving away how relieved he was that he could walk steadily.

“Could have fooled me. I had to carry you in here. You owe me two philters of strength by the way.” She handed him a bowl of stew and what he registered as a fairly clean spoon after he sat down in the chair. Slumping into the chair beside him, she sighed and he took a spoonful of stew. It smelled good and tasted even better.

“You’re quite a good cook.” He said quietly after he’d managed a bite. The stew was rich and thick with chunks of venison, potatoes, some other vegetables and herbs. She finished chewing and swallowed. He watched the muscles in her throat move as she did.

"Thank you." She responded softly. He put his spoon down and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.

"And, thank you for getting me to safety and whatever you did you help me feel as good as I am." She looked off to her right, away from him and nodded.

"You’re welcome." This was soft enough to be a whisper. He wondered what to say. The air between them was thick with something he couldn’t name. There was vulnerability, and raw honesty. He wasn’t used to this. Everything he’d ever done was coveted in a veneer of sarcasm, humour, flirtation and an easy smile. His normal manner didn’t feel like it fit here, in the softly flickering light of candle and fire. It wasn’t that he felt that he wasn’t welcome in this atmosphere, had it been anywhere else, this might have been his element. This wasn’t some soft seduction in the faint light of flickering candles; this was food and gratitude for having saved his life.

"What happened while I was out?" He asked. She looked over at him, her eyes making the shimmering white of her hair even more eerie. "You were injured." He gestured to the scar on her nose. She covered it self-consciously. Carefully, he lifted his hand and pulled hers away where she was covering the former wound. "Just tell me." He requested. She sighed, probably taking that moment to remember and compose her story.

"I left to loot what I thought was the last room because I thought you’d killed the bandit chief. I was wrong. The bounty wanted the fort cleaned out, I needed to get back to you, the last room held all the heavy hitters. Three mages, an archer, and the chief. I didn’t have time to be silent and lethal because I didn’t know how bad your injury was. I managed them, looted as quickly as I could, and came back you find you out."

"What of the wounds you sustained?" He asked.

"I dealt with them." She responded dryly.

"No you didn’t." He retorted before he took a bite. She turned to him, incredulous.

"I beg your pardon?" He gave her a pointed look at where her black shirt still had blood soaking from there was obviously a wound she had missed.

"You gave me all your potions and did a bunch of other work on me, didn’t you? I think you barely had any for yourself." She held his gaze steadily. He waited for her to dip her head in embarrassment or acquiescence. She didn’t. Internally she was annoyed with herself that she’d missed that wound. Healing magick, when applied to others in the amounts she’d applied to him, tended to numb her own wounds if she hadn’t dealt with them yet. It was little wonder that she’d missed it, but she resented it was noticed.

"I did what needed to be done." She responded quietly.

"I have no doubt of that Lass, and you did what you needed to do for me. For that I’m grateful, but I’ll bet that you completely ignored yourself to see to my needs, eh?” She held his gaze defiantly, but even if she didn’t admit it he could tell he was right. Whatever she’d done to ensure he was healed as much as he was, it had taken its toll on her. Her eyes had lines under them that even under the hood he’d never seen. They accented the bags under her eyes well. He held out a hand to her, feeling like he had an equal chance of losing it as he did having her take it. “Come on Lass, let me help you.” They held the staring contest for a few moments; she would lose every time she would look down at his hand before she’d look back up at his eyes. He watched the indecision play out in her eyes, the fear warring with the budding wish for trust, the – Honestly there were so many emotions bubbling up that he could hardly name them all. He decided to be patient. Either she would trust him a little and let him help her, or she’d let the wound sit until she could deal with it. From the short time he’d known her, Aylin would deal with it, but it might have an impact on any number of things later.

“I just want it bandaged Lass, I won’t touch you in any way that isn’t to help.” His voice was soft, as if he were trying to tempt a stray cat with some fish. Her eyes flicked from the palm of his hand to his eyes. The fear was disguised as flinty sharp distrust, but he knew what it was when he saw it. What had happened to her that she was so scared to accept help with a wound?

“Your word.” He acquiesced with a slight nod, still not moving his hand from where it hovered over forgotten soup bowls.

“I swear before the Divines not to touch you more than to bandage your wound.” She swallowed thickly, probably swallowing down the fear. But he watched as she sought his eyes. She still looked like a scared cat, but hesitantly, she took his hand.

He walked to the bed; she’d left all the supplies around there, so it was probably easiest to work there.

“Do you have-?” he began to ask for some type of light, but stopped when he heard something pop behind him. Turning, he saw a light hovering above her. “Another spell?” he asked, she nodded.

“Candlelight.” She replied, pulling her shirt from the breeches she wore. She laid with the spell hovering over top of her middle, her back to him and her shirt raised enough for him to see the wound. It was very much a graze, but enough of one that it would cause her pain later if she didn’t deal with it now. He dipped a clean piece of linen in some of the clean water she had left, and warning her before he touched her with cold liquid, began to clean the dried blood from the wound.

She tensed as the cold hit her skin, and he watched how all the muscles he could see seized as if they were ready for action. He wasn’t certain if it was from the cold, or from the feeling of someone else touching her. He didn’t ask.

The wound wasn’t bad. Just annoying enough to bleed and seep blood when everything else was alright. It looked like an arrow probably took out a decent chunk of her armor to have gotten to her skin like this. He cleaned her gently, aware that she was probably fighting an intense feeling of fight or flight, and he wondered what had happened to her that made her so terrified of people, or perhaps it was only terror of men? Maybe the fear was being vulnerable? This was not a question he was going to ask, he liked his head on his neck and not bitten off.

Laying out the cloth after he’d rinsed the old blood from it, he reached for the clean bandages. Clearing his throat, he found himself looking into alert garnet eyes before he could open his mouth to say anything. She’d reached for the linen before he could even speak. She wrapped the linen around herself deftly; apparently she was used to seeing to her own wounds. He wasn’t sure if he was glad of her apparently not needing help or not, obviously she had plenty of experience in dressing her own wounds.

“You’ve been more than kind.” She said softly. “Allow me to finish this myself.” He nodded and returned to the food he’d left to cool on the table between the chairs. He ate a bit more before she’d returned to the other chair, brining her bandaging materials as well and hanging the newly cleaned ones to dry off the cauldron holder. He didn’t know how she’d cleaned them of blood and gore from his wound and her own, but didn’t argue or ask. He felt like at this point she needed some time to compose herself before he started to pry into things.

He was pleasantly surprised to see that she had included black briar mead with the meal as he’d originally expected. She drank something else, something that smelled spicy, and it apparently was better warm, as she set it back beside the hearth after she’d returned with bandages and taken a sip. While whatever was in the bottle warmed again, she turned to a small clay pot with a spout and poured something rich and dark coloured into a small clay mug. She cupped her hands around it and drained it in a draught. Pouring herself another cup, she noticed him watching her.

“Tea?” she asked. He shook his head, and she shrugged, settling back into the chair with her hands cupped around the clay. He swallowed his spoonful of broth and leaned back himself.

“Why don’t we play a game.” He asked. She pinned him with a look.

“What kind of game?” she expected mischief and it showed. He set the bowl in his lap and raised his hands, letting his face show only earnest emotion without duplicity.

“Nothing serious Lass, just something to get to know each other better.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Rules?” He smiled.

“Simple.”He smoothed down the slight beard that he knew needed trimming. “One of us asks a question and the other answers truthfully. If you do not wish to answer, the game stops. We take turns with the questions, and it can be as simple or as difficult as you’d like. Does that sound alright?” Her eyes were still narrowed, and her posture was still guarded. Rising from her chair, she grabbed the bottle she’d set beside the fire, added some more wood to the embers, took a rather long swig from the bottle and sat back down.

“I suppose.” He clapped his hands together and faced the chair towards her over the empty bowls on the table. He couldn’t help the sudden enthusiasm he had over this. “I do have one suggestion.” She began, and he leaned his head to the side, his eyebrow rising in what was probably a suggestively cocky look. Her eyes took in his expression and narrowed again. Internally, he slapped himself, forgetting that this one wasn’t one wasn’t someone he could just charge forward without care. She’d fall back into silence and distrust. If he wanted to foster a friendship with this one, something that wasn’t just flirting, easy remarks, mild camaraderie, and hollow friendship beneath it all, he’d need to work to show that he could be trusted. That whatever she’d been through in the past, it wouldn’t be he who put her threw it again. At least, he hoped.

“What is it Lass?” She tucked her legs up in the chair and turned herself to face him. He noted that she kept her knees between them, but she was facing him at least.

“Perhaps give us each a chance to not answer three questions at this time, without the game stopping.” Brynjolf thought a moment before nodding. That seemed fair. If they ever played this game again, perhaps some of those questions might come up again. But he sensed that giving her a chance to have an escape might be a wise idea.

“Do you wish to start?” he asked. She nodded before considering. He watched her eyes take in the details of his face. He wondered what she was thinking.

“What is your favourite sweet bread?” she asked. He blinked. That was not what he had expected as a question, but he had left it open for everything, so he supposed this was fair. He thought for a moment.

“Well, I can’t complain about sweet rolls,” he began, “but I don’t mind most crostatas or dumplings.” He noted the edges of her eyes turning up and thought she might be amused by his answer. Settling back against the side of the chair, she watched him. She was waiting for his question. He swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Why the mask?” The question had the response he’d been expecting. Her entire body went rigid. She closed her eyes and took a breath, letting it out slowly before she swallowed.

“I prefer my face covered, and my identity more of a mystery than others.”

“Why?” he asked, curious. He saw the mask move, and could assume that she’d begun to grin, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, now it’s my turn.” He waited, taking a sip of the mead as he did. She played the rules close to the letter. He could accept that.

“Why were you selling faulty potions in the marketplace?” Huh, another odd question, although he supposed, one that made sense.

“Because it made some coin, because it was amusing to watch everyone try to figure out if I was selling something legitimate or a fake, because when I did make some coin, I knew it was because someone didn’t want to think logically.” He watched as she considered that answer. He felt a little uneasy because it felt like she was coming to conclusions about his answer that he had never considered, and wasn’t sure if he’d ever wanted too. He swallowed another mouthful of mead and hurriedly considered a question. His mind lit upon her conduct the first day they had met and his memory of the look she’d given him from the other day.

“Why have you stopped flirting with me?” She frowned.

“Sorry?”

“Yesterday, you gave me a suggestive look, but you’ve been very careful since you found your way into the Flagon.”

“I.. err..” she stuttered. Huh, that was another interesting thing. He’d never seen her get tongue tied. She gave her head a little shake and he watched her draw up her posture to something .. else. She was straighter, and still hiding, but now she wasn’t slouched in the chair, she’d adjusted to look different, taller? More imposing? Unafraid? It was tough to tell, maybe she simply wanted to appear as if she wasn’t going to stutter again. He couldn’t place what the posture did for her, or what it was supposed to do.

“You’re a colleague, not just someone attractive at the market anymore.”

“You think I’m attractive?”

“For a nord.” She answered tersely, reaching for the warmed bottle from the hearth and taking a long draught from it. He grinned and pressed a hand to his breast.

“Milady, you wound me!”

“Unlikely.” She deadpanned before raising her bottle back to her lips. She didn’t take her gaze from his at all. “You’ve got plenty of others who think you’re attractive if you need reinforcement of what you consider yourself already. You don’t need another thief in training to tell you what you know.” She explained, considering the bottle instead of him at last. “My question is this: you had a chance to go with me today, what is your assessment of my skills?” her tone was brisk and businesslike again. He let his hand fall to his lap where it had been on his chest, what she’d just said was laden with meaning that wasn’t being said or delivered in her tone. He decided to file that entire question and answer away for later; it was something he wanted to consider. Turning his thoughts to her question, he watched her settle back into a comfortable position.

“Your bow skills are excellent. Blades are good, lock picking, sneak and stealth are all excellent. You have some ability with magicka, which isn’t required but isn’t a bad thing either. Apparently you’re not half bad of an alchemist, or you’ve got access to poisons and potions that make your life easier. Is there anything you think you need some training on?” He asked, realizing after the fact that he’d technically used one of the questions he wanted to use to ask something else. Mentally shrugging, he recalled that he was along on this whole journey to assess her skills, so asking that was more important than the things he wanted to learn about her. The Guild came first, he had to remind himself, no matter how much he wanted to unravel the puzzle of a woman in front of him.

“I can use practice with everything honestly. The moment you stop practicing and think you know everything, is the moment you get complacent. Complacency means death. My pick pocketing is weak, significantly weaker than the rest of my skills.”

“How’s your hand to hand?” he asked.

“With weapons or without?”

“Without.” She shrugged.

“I try not to get into fights where I’m not armed.” He smirked.

“A wise idea, but it’s not something that can always be arranged.” He responded.

“I can handle myself.” She quipped.

“Well aware of that Lass, we can practice tomorrow at some point.” She shook her head as he finished his suggestion.

“I’ve got something else I need to do.” She said. “But I will be able to do so when I return.” He raised an eyebrow.

“What do you need to go off and do?”

“You’ve been ignoring the rules of the game for the past 10 minutes you know.” She drained her cup of tea before she answered. “The Companions had something they wanted me to do, and I’ve got something to deliver to Winterhold.” She blinked before she looked at him, suddenly sly. “If that’s alright?” her question dripped with an obvious intention to head off with or without his permission. He rolled his eyes.

“I suppose. I know that you can handle yourself, and I’m sure that some hand to hand could wait for you to get back.” He stifled a yawn and abruptly, she stood.

“Bed,” she ordered. “You’re still not healed entirely, and sleep will help.” He looked at her, and the bed as she gathered up bowls, cutlery and things from supper and deposited them in the sink.

“But, where will you sleep?” he asked as she gathered up the tea pot and the one cup that had been used.

“I’m no stranger to camping, I have a bedroll.” He shook his head; he wouldn’t take her bed only for her to sleep on the floor.

“I won’t take your bed if you’re on the floor.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor. You’re far more injured than I and-“

“It’s big enough for two.” He stated quietly. She gave him that wide eyed look that he had learned meant she was fighting the fight or flight response. “I just mean for sleep Lass, I won’t touch you or anything. I swear on my honor before the Divines.” He watched her swallow, the muscles in her throat rippling.

“I’ll decide that once I’m done cleaning.” She responded softly. Turning back to the dishes, she sunk her hand into a bucket of water and he saw a glow begin to burn from the bottom. The water was soon steaming lightly and she indicated the bed with her chin. “Go get some rest Brynjolf. I’ll get my own too.”

He turned away from her, feeling his eyebrows rise and fall as he made his way towards the bed and the low burning candle on the side table. He pulled off his breeches, but left the hose he wore underneath it on. He didn’t fancy brining blood and gore from his armor into her bed, regardless of whether she’d join him or not. He faced the wall as she slid himself under the blanket. It wasn’t half bad for comfort, but she’d noticed before he’d been willing to admit it that he was exhausted, and it could have been the floor for all his body would have cared. Stifling another yawn, he wondered if she would join him. He didn’t think he would be pleased if she slept on the floor, but it was her house, and her bed, she could do as she wished. He just hoped, as the world of sleep rose up to claim him, that she wouldn’t deny herself the chance for a good rest because her fear got the better of her.


	5. Banter, Bets and Ventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They banter, bets are made.   
> Ventures are attempted.   
> They are derailed when things go tits up.   
> Plans are changed.   
> ... This one was tough to name and summarize.   
> The next one will be a doozie.

Brynjolf didn’t know if she had slept with him or not. The bed was empty when he awoke, and the pale light of just after dawn was streaming in threw the dingy windows of Riften. There was a note on the table between the chairs however, with a bowl of left over stew and some tea in a cup. But she was nowhere to be found. He rose from the bed and made it, thinking that this was the first time he’d ever made a bed he didn’t own that he’d slept in. He put on his breeches, looking down at his chest threw the cut undershirt and chuckling before he’d put the cuirass over top of that. He’d replace the shirt with another from the Cistern.

The note was short, to the point. It told him that she’d probably get some more jobs today and head out, but she’d make sure he got his share of the reward from the Jarl before she left. He looked around at the small house. The grey light of morning was better light than the evening had been. It showed off the blanked fire and the cleaned surfaces from the evening.

His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself snooping threw her wardrobes and chests. She hadn’t been wrong when she’d told him she had nothing of use to the Thieves Guild. He finished the stew she’d left for him, and hazarded a curious look downstairs. A room for a housecarl, he guessed, along with an alchemy space and an enchanter’s table. Both appeared recently used. A ghostly bow hung on a weapon’s plaque, but that was the only décor that the wall boasted. Two mannequins stood beside the enchanter’s table, and one of them was dressed in the Guild armor that she had taken and yet not entirely worn yet. He assumed that meant she was either still wearing the Bosmer engraved stuff, or the original Hammerfell inspired garb. At some point, he was going to ask her about what that was, and where she’d found it.

He decided he wasn’t going to honor her hospitality with being a terrible guest, and he cleaned the dishes she’d left him food in.

Wryly, he thought as he wiped the dish and spoon, that this was the first time he’d spent a night with a woman that nothing happened, that there had even been breakfast involved, but like the night, it had been enjoyed alone. This was an odd change to his usual circumstances and routine with woman.

He did have one thought that nagged at him though. Why was this one different? Most women were fine to bed and leave, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t had fun with some of those in the Guild before as well. Granted that was for _fun._ This one didn’t appear to be comfortable with fun that wasn’t being an impish hellion. Or maybe he was and he didn’t know her well enough yet. He shook his head as he left her house, managing to lock it from the inside before he closed the door behind himself. Somehow he thought that she would not be appreciative of him leaving her door open in a city of thieves.

Just to be safe however, he carved the protected shadowmark beside her door. Anyone who was affiliated with the Guild was not going to ignore that, and if they did, she would probably help him in beating them senseless.

It was early enough that no one noticed him slipping into the secret entrance to the guild, but the Guild was up, sort of.

Niruin was up, launching arrows into the center of targets across the waterway. The usual thunk of arrows finding their marks was comforting. He nodded to the Bosmer as he went over to the chest beside his bed. Popping it open, he pulled out a clean linen shirt and unbuckled the cuirass.

A low whistle caught his attention. His gaze found Sapphire standing beside the tiny kitchen they kept their food in, and she’d caught sight of the cut in his shirt. She was grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“Had a good night with the new girl Bryn?” she asked. He grimaced at her, and pulled the scrap fabric over his head, focusing on putting on the clean and whole shirt.

“Wow, what did she do? Tie you to the bed and cut it off you?” Niruin asked. He stood holding his bow to the side, amusement colouring his face and pulling his lips into a smirk. Sapphire had dispensed with smirking and was all out grinning.

“Must have been a good night then.”

“Bah, it wasn’t like that.” He responded as he buckled the cuirass up again.

“Bryn’s grumpy!” Sapphire nudged Niruin as he came to stand beside the other Thief. They were both grinning conspiratorially.

“Actually, I was injured. She brought me back safely, and spent the night healing me.” He responded earnestly, unbuckling the cuirass again to show the scar that was left from the shoulder wound. Niruin frowned at it as he inspected it.

“That looks quite a few years old, you say this was yesterday?” Brynjolf shrugged.

“We seem to have a fairly capable healer in our midst.”

“That might make a difference when Thrynn gets himself into trouble.” Sapphire said, staring at the figure that was sawing logs in the bed across the Cistern.

“Assuming he doesn’t get grabbed by the Guard for any trouble he gets into.” Niruin added. Finishing up the buckles, Brynjolf grinned.

“He hasn’t gotten picked up yet, just tossed by Dirge into the water a few times. That’s enough trouble for now.” He continued; grabbing the ruined shirt and tossing it back in the chest of belongings at the foot of his bed. Turning back to the two, he spoke quietly. “I’m used to the teasing. But be gentler on the new girl. She is not used to people, and if we spook her too much, she might bolt.”

Sapphire didn’t look impressed.

“So she can’t handle being teased?”

“I didn’t say that,” Brynjolf was now wondering if he’d done the right thing in saying anything.

“No, you didn’t.” a new voice sounded from behind them. All three Thieves turned to see the new recruit. “But while I thank you for your concern Brynjolf, I can take care of myself. For the record,” she continued looking at Niruin, “He didn’t need to be tied, and he was pretty much knocked out. But he kept his virtue, so you don’t need to be worried about that.” She turned and walked off to the Flagon, presumably to ensure that she got paid for the jobs she’d done yesterday. The three remaining Thieves gaped at her; suddenly she turned and pulled a pouch from her belt. Tossing it at him, he caught it out of the air. “I suppose I owe you a new shirt after all.” She said over her shoulder as she strode into the Flagon.

Niruin and Sapphire looked at Brynjolf’s stunned expression and burst out laughing.

“Lady Killer didn’t even get any, but still managed to get paid!” Niruin laughed, holding onto Sapphire for support. She was wiping tears out of her eyes.

“I told you she was as good as you!”

“Oh knock it off, both of you!” he mock glared at them, but it was tough to stay annoyed at them when she’d done such a damn good job of tossing him literally from a cliff in front of his crew. He wouldn’t be able to walk away from a burn this good, and it was good. He had to give her that. Of course, he had a feeling that she’d be able to handle herself with any of the ragging that happened between the new blooded thieves. Not that she was staying around long enough to have them work on the pecking order with her. But it was something she’d need to do eventually.

She’d gotten him well. He was sure that he wouldn’t hear the end of it any time soon. But as he walked into the Flagon to figure out what the order of the day was from Vex and Delvin, he sat down with Delvin and he pulled out a purse of far more coin than his share of the bounty had been and placed it before him. Brynjolf raised his eyebrows.

"What’s this Del?" He asked.

"Your girl told me this was the rest of what she owed you." Brynjolf frowned.

"The rest? She already gave me what she owed." Delvin shrugged.

"She left it with me with instructions to pass it onto you. I’ve done what she asked."

"That you have." Brynjolf answered, considering the purse.

"So..." Delvin began before swallowing a sip of something. "How'd she do?"

"Pretty well actually, she’s good on the battlefield, sneaky like a shadow, and handy with a blade, bow and spell."

"Spell?" Delvin asked his face curious and wary. The combination had kept him alive, and it wasn’t as if there wasn’t a healthy respect for any magick users in Skyrim; healthy respect that bordered on fear and suspicion.

“Aye, she’s a spell caster, she mostly conjures, which is a very good distraction tactic, works with a few fireballs, but what I saw most was her restoration work.”

“Something tells me you got to see that last one up close and personal.” Delvin inferred, watching his friend with lidded eyes. Brynjolf shrugged.

“Took an arrow to the shoulder, it was poisoned. She got me all fixed up with a combination of potions and what I surmise was quite a lot of time spent healing me.” Delvin lifted his brows.

“You’ve had it checked over?”

“No, not yet. But it went from a murderously painful wound that wouldn’t let me move my arm, and now I can move my arm with only an ache I’d expect after a year of healing, in a day.”

“Well I’ll be, it’s been a long while since we’ve had a healer down here.” Delvin sat back in his seat, stroking his chin hair thoughtfully.

“We’ve had a healer down here before?” Brynjolf was skeptical.

“Well no, not exactly. We’ve had alchemists.” Delvin backtracked quickly.

“That’s not the same, although she is a fairly decent one it appears, either that, or she’s got access to lots of potions.”

“Well, that would be helpful too.” Delvin agreed.

“Ha, she won’t last long enough to use them! My bet is she gets picked up inside of a month.” Vex snorted, her sharp voice cutting threw the quiet conversation that the men had been having.

“I hope not.” Another female voice answered as Sapphire sat down beside Tonilia. “She’s been giving Brynjolf a run for his money already.”

“Oh?” Vex asked, an amused tone to her voice. Brynjolf put his head in his hands as Delvin looked between Sapphire and Brynjolf in confusion. Sapphire told the story of what Niruin and she had seen before the newest Thief had left the Cistern after she’d seen Vex and Delvin and what had been said. Pretty soon, even Vekel and Dirge were splitting a gut laughing. Despite the humiliation that was percolating the Guild, Brynjolf couldn’t help but chuckle along with his group. The slight didn’t hurt; it was just more of a reminder that the mer that he’d recruited was a spitfire who wasn’t to be underestimated. She had literally carried him back to her home so that she could heal him. He wondered how or if any of those assembled would do that for anyone else here.

Huh, perhaps he was thinking less of his fellows than they deserved, because he knew without a doubt that he would do exactly what she had done for any of those there. He hoped that they would all do the same for him if he ever needed it from them.

Satisfied that his loyalty to the other Thieves present was solid, and hoping that it would be reciprocally present if it was ever required, Brynjolf sat into a week or so of wait for the newest recruit to return. He spent his time training himself, and supervising some of the newer thieves and their progress. Rune was getting better in his lock picking. Thrynn and Niruin decided to try a heist that involved Rune and Vipir pretending to be lovers as a distraction. This plan included Vipir in a dress. While Delvin died laughing, Tonilia tried not to crack a smile, and Vex rolled her eyes, he had to actually stop the fools from trying to get Vipir into a dress and all of them from trying to attempt it.

They finally relented when he pointed out that Vipir had far too much of a manly figure, and too much facial hair to pull it off.

That took some of the heat off him from Aylin’s crack at him, but “his virtue” was still a popular thing to comment on.

 

Sapphire and Thrynn had a bet that she’d be back within a week. Vipir bet that she’d be back a week and a half. He won the bet.

She walked into the Cistern and handed both Delvin and Vex exactly what she’d been tasked to retrieve. She had a bit of small grin to her eyes as she looked over at him and winked.

She hadn’t done that in a while.

She spent the next three days showing him exactly what kind of fighter she was with hand to hand combat.

Her fighting wasn’t _terrible_ , but the first day was nothing like watch her handle a bow. She had her feet under her on the third day, as he body remembered how to dodge punches and kick back, but her mind wasn’t in it. Brynjolf decided not to press to hard.

He himself could feel something different about her that hadn't been there when she’d taken him to Faldar’s Tooth. As they moved past each other, sometimes getting far _far_ to close for his comfort, (and his self control), she almost felt like her bones were thrumming with some kind of power. It wasn’t like her magic had been. This felt deeper, like something was humming under her skin. He didn’t question her about it, because half the time he was quite certain that he was imagining it. It wasn’t like she touched him, so he couldn’t really tell if what he was feeling, (or was it sensing?) was real.

At the end of three days, she left with another wink and a suggestion that she’d be back within a week. But she took all the jobs that were in the Falkreath region to be completed while she was away.

 

The first thing that Brynjolf did when she left was go find a partner to work his traitorous impulses out with, hoping against hope that perhaps when she came back, he’d be able to tutor her without wanting to pin her up against a wall, rip her mask off, and claim her mouth with his. She was his protégé, and senior thieves didn’t have relationships with young ones!

Gallus had taught them all that anything more than friends and companions within their ranks was a good way to get killed.

He’d managed to keep his attraction? Curiosity? Whatever it was, mostly quiet. Mercer, who would have been the most vocal opponent, was none the wiser. The rest of them, who were slightly more aware than their Guild Master, thought of their relationship as a friendly competition, or something. Honestly, Brynjolf didn’t want to think about what any of those around him thought about her and him in any capacity.

The second official thing, after discovering that their accounts were woefully low on coin, and after giving all those in the Flagon a tongue lashing, was to take some jobs in Whiterun.

He got there towards the end of the week that she’d been gone.

Once he did get there, it was fairly quiet in the city of the plains. There were no dragons in the skies, and the Guard had just finished taking out a giant that had wandered too close to one of the farms.

He felt something stirring in the morning that he decided to actually get on with his business. It didn’t feel good, and Brynjolf hadn’t gotten good at being a thief by ignoring his gut. His instinct said something was wrong.

His instinct was proven correct as a small troop of what appeared to be well organized bandits invaded the city and made off for the Cloud district, or was it the Plains district? Whatever it was, that’s where they were headed, and he didn’t like the look of it.

There were a few children about that didn’t appear to be able to think clearly as the brigands ran through the town. He managed to gather them into a space that was defensible, and kept guard of them while the chaos happened.

Whatever it was, it happened quickly and the brigands ran out of Whiterun soon after, barely giving the guard a chance to figure out what had happened.

Brynjolf frowned, this wasn’t a usual thing. Certainly there had been more situations like random vampire attacks recently, but this was unprecedented. Keeping a low profile after shooing the children off to their homes and parents, he started making his way through the streets looking for something out of order.

For brigands, they had left all the major areas intact, but they had been too well organized to just be a random attack. What did they want?

Suddenly, running through the streets he saw two figures. One he recognized.

He sprinted to catch up to them and managed to catch the bosmer armor clad one before she made it out the gates of Whiterun.

“Lass!” he caught her in her run. He saw something he’d never expected to see on her dark skin. She had tears on her cheeks, tear tracks down her face and fresh drops falling from her eyes. She tried to keep running, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Lass!” she kept fighting. “Aylin!” she stilled at her name, looking into his face and appearing to recognize him. If that was how far gone she was, then he was probably lucky that she hadn’t stabbed him or something. He was probably lucky that she’d recognized him rather than decided to do harm.

“Brynjolf! What are you doing here!?” She looked terrible. What had happened to her?

“Lass, what’s happened?”

“They killed Kodlak!” She yelled, letting her head drop onto his shoulder. He was stunned. Kodlak Whitemane? The legendary Harbinger of the Companions, dead? How could that even happen?

“Who killed him?” he asked, his voice betraying his disbelief.

“Dead men.” She growled. She looked up and he saw the same ugly anger that Mercer had had in his eyes more than a few times since Gallus.

“Shield sister!” the other man who she had been sprinting with had stopped and was waiting for her. She strained to go after him.

“Go, I’ll meet you at the horses!” she called to him. The man gave Brynjolf a skeptical look, but did as she requested. He turned back to Aylin.

“Lass, are you going to be alright?” He suddenly didn’t want to leave her. She was a Companion too, what if whoever killed Kodlak wanted to murder all the Companions? What if she left the city and he’d never see her again?

Wait, where had that thought come from?

“I’ll be fine. They aren’t expecting us. We have some vengeance to reek. They will pay for this.” She hissed, her eyes dripping salt water despite her fury.

“Are you sure you don’t need-?” he began, but she shook her head.

“I’ll come back here before I go back to Riften. If you want to make wait,” she pointed at a house just past the blacksmith that was inside Whiterun’s walls, “tell Lydia I said you could stay. We should be back within the week. I need to go Brynjolf.” She tried to pull away. He held firm.

“Just,” he swallowed. She looked at him searchingly. “Be careful Lass.” She didn’t bother answering, just nodded and took off for the gate and whatever vengeance she sought.

He watched her go, feeling a pit grow in the bottom of his stomach. He didn’t figure this was the kind of adventure she normally went on, but this felt like it matched the feeling of significance in the air that morning.

Shaking his head, he decided. He walked up to the door she’d indicated and knocked, deciding that if someone lived there besides her, that picking his way in was not a good way to make a good impression.


	6. Broken Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aylin returns, broken.   
> Brynjolf gets some information he really wanted, and then some he didn't expect.   
> Here there be intense chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: depression, depressive episode. ... stuff to do with depression?

She didn’t remember what exactly she saw, but what she did remember screaming herself awake, again. Scrambling out of her bedroll, she had to consciously work on calming herself down. Slowly, the world came back into focus, and she registered Vilkas sitting silently beside a crackling fire. He was watching her.

“Another one?” he asked, feeding another log to the flames.

“That obvious was it?” she snarled with no heat behind it.

“There is no shame in it.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. He got up and walked until he was beside her. Sitting down, he mimicked her position, hugging her knees to herself. It wasn’t as close as he’d like to be, but he knew her well enough to not approach with outstretched arms, as there was a good possibility she might employ her many blades. They sat in silence for a while, watching the flames. He listened to her breath, and was grateful for the hearing given by the wolf; it helped him hear her heartbeat as it slowed. Her breathing became more calm and regular, and he sighed with relief. His Shield sister could handle herself, but he was always glad when he knew that his family of all sorts was alright.

This did not exactly count as “alright”, but given the circumstances they were in, he would take what he could get.

“The wolf wants out.” She finally croaked. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You aren’t willing to let it?” he asked.

“The dragon wants to rip every one of them to shreds, roast the flesh, and the wolf wants to consume it all, preferably bloody. That combination doesn’t bode well for stealth, and swift vengeance.”

“It might be what they deserve.” He mused aloud. He’d known her for long enough that he could tell when she was sneering at him.

“Deserving has nothing to do with it.”

They were silent for a time.

“Kodlak wanted me to find a cure for his Lycanthropy.” She said quietly. Vilkas looked at her, trying to disguise his surprise. It was something they all knew of course, but had the two of them managed to find something that would work?

“Did you find something?”

“Well it doesn’t matter now does it?! Too little too late!” she screamed at him. Deciding that he could probably regrow a few vital organs if she decided to remove them on the end of her blade, Vilkas pulled her into him and held her as she dissolved into tears.

“I’m sorry Aylin; I spoke too harshly when you came back. You not being there were not going to stop the Silver Hand from coming after us, from coming after him.” Her body shook as she cried, but she made no sound. “We all failed him; it wasn’t all on your shoulders.”

“I should have run long ago.” He heard her mutter from somewhere around where she was hugging her knees. “Every time I stay, someone dies.” Vilkas shook his head, holding her close.

“No Sister, his time was coming soon anyway. He knew it, everyone knew it. He wouldn’t have been happy dying in his bed; he wanted to go out with fire in his eyes and a sword in his hands.”

She knew that was true and he felt the acceptance come over her body as she shook in sobs. Eventually he felt her still in his arms, and knew that she’d fallen asleep. He let her sleep; somewhat surprised that she hadn’t skewered him as she’d threatened to in other similar situations.

Then again, this wasn’t like anything any of them had ever experienced.

 

 

Whiterun felt hollow without Kodlak. Aylin felt hollow without the Harbinger in Jorrrvaskr. She walked listlessly, Vilkas beside her.

She stopped at the entrance to Breezehome. She desperately wanted a bath, and to rest. Perhaps this time she’d be able to sleep somewhere not the floor without dissolving in nightmares.

Vilkas stopped when she did, watching her as she stared without seeing at the door to her home in Whiterun. Squeezing her shoulder, he shouldered his pack.

“Come on Aylin. We have a funeral to get too.”

A tear fell across the scar on her nose, and she followed him.

 

She didn’t notice a presence watching her, she felt too numb to care.

She stood during the funeral rites for the man she’d loved like a surrogate father. The inner Circle adjourned for a night to allow everyone to grieve. Eorland asked if she’d go and get the last piece of Wuuthrad from Kodlak’s things, and barely seeing where she was going, she obliged.

She had just enough presence of mind to pocket the shiny thing on his table and his journal, knowing that he wouldn’t be needing it now, and also needing something intrinsically his. She didn’t even have the wherewithal to care that she’d stolen something important to the former Harbinger of the Companions, it was literally just muscle memory now.

She felt incredibly lost.

Just a week ago, she felt hopeful, she felt like some of the misery of her past might be something that was slowly fading into the past and didn’t have a presence in her future. That had obviously been a mistake. She felt like she’d been abandoned by the fates, if everything they’d done hadn’t been to mess with her.

She unlocked Breezehome and walked into the place. She shut the door and locked it behind her. Uncharacteristically, she dropped her bag at the door, and began dropping armor as she walked from the entrance threw the house and down the stairs.

“My Thane!” she heard from the upper floor. She ignored it, hearing the trapdoor for the basement close behind her as she kept trailing armor and clothing behind her. She dropped the last bit of clothing that covered her as she dropped herself into the bath that resided in her basement. A fire runestone or two kept the water consistently warm. Some kind architect had ensured that there was some dwemer plumbing that allowed for baths without exceptional trouble. She’d thought it novel when she had everything put in, but had never used it. Today however, hot water sounded like a dream.

It was a dream; she soaked until she stopped feeling. She didn’t have much feeling in her skin to begin with, but she went numb soon after sitting in water that by all rights, was probably too warm, even for Dunmer physiology.

She spent an hour in hot water staring at the wall.

 

Her fingertips had wrinkled beyond her own recognition when she finally hauled herself out of the water, drained the tub, and rapped herself in a robe before collecting the discarded clothing and armor that shed dropped down here.

When the trapdoor creaked open, she heard Lydia’s heavy footfalls make their way to a respectful distance from the ladder.

"My Thane, I made us some supper if you would like, and warmed you some spiced wine, whenever you wish." Aylin nodded dumbly as she walked up the stairs for some clean clothes.

It wasn’t the Breezehome she had originally bought. When she had been made thane, some budding architect wanted to try his hand at designing and she had let him at her home. He had entirely changed it, and it had been very helpful.

The Jarls steward had orchestrated a great deal of the upgrades, including an alchemy table, enchanters table, plenty of storage and generally a prettier place to live. She had never had anywhere so fine.

But tonight, it did not matter and she did not care.

She pulled the screen around her dressing area shut as she dressed herself, despite being soaking wet. Her pants were leather and black, knee high boots, a black cotton shirt that tied at the neck. Her hair hung limply despite the fact she’d brushed it.

"Can I offer you a drink?" A voice asked as she sat on her bed staring over the balcony.

"Look, I’m in no mood to be flirty, mischievous, playful or even remotely hospitable. Lydia has to put up with it because she lives here. If you were seeking the behavior you’ve seen before, you won’t find it here. I won’t stop you if you want to leave now."

"I’ve had worse greetings," he said, pressing a bottle of warmed spiced wine into her hand. She popped the cork and took a sip, but she could barely taste it and he looked at her with skepticism.

"Like what, who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Had that too." His tone was light.

"What do you want Brynjolf?" She sighed as she spoke. He considered his words before he gave her an answer.

"You said I could stay until you returned." He began, considering his words carefully.

"So you did, and I’ve returned. Why are you here?" She was relentless on him, but he wasn’t sure why. He looked at her, considering her. She looked the same as she had, the scar on her nose wasn’t so bad as it had been, but he supposed that was because she was still healing it. She still wore the mask.

Her eyes were different though. They still were the deep red of jeweled berries, but the light that sparkled over her pupil suddenly shone silver. Was that normal? Her pupil looked more like a cats might, and there was a slight coloring of gold.

It was unnerving, and he found himself both put off and wanting to stare into her eyes longer.

"Your eyes are different" he heard himself saying.

"What?" Her voice was dead and he frowned as he studied the orbs.

"They have gold in them, and silver."

The effect was instantaneous. She leapt from the bed and ran to a wardrobe that she wrenched open. Staring into what he assumed was a mirror. He watched as horror and rising panic rose on her features and she dropped to a crouch. Rocking back and forth, she had her head covered with her arms.

"No no," she sounded terrified, "I can’t cover my eyes too."

He moved gently, letting normally silent steps be heard so that he wouldn’t scare her. Crouching down beside her, he cleared his throat. What was he supposed to say to someone who appeared to be having such a breakdown?

"Lass, no one will notice your eyes."

"You did." She muttered still rocking.

"I spend time looking at you. I’m sure that no one else does the same way."  He wasn’t sure if that was something he hoped was true or not.

Honestly he’d never been good at comfort. He’d never been good at calm. He was good at working the top emotions of a person, their greed, lust, wrath, or shallow emotions he could manipulate and work with. This was none of those. This appeared to be something else entirely, and he had to admit to himself that he felt woefully unequipped to feel with any of it. He pulled out a flash of something strong and thrust it into her hand.

"Have a swig of this." He said gruffly, her head popped up and she stared at it.

"Why, what is it?"

"Just have some." He watched as she unscrewed the lid and took a tentative sniff of the contents. She turned away from him, probably moved the mask and took a long drink. He tried not to be surprised, but he failed as his jaw dropped at how much she was able to put back.

She coughed as she let the mask fall back into place and returned the lid to the flask. She appeared a bit steadier, but he couldn’t tell.

"Better?" He asked, looking into her eyes to see if they were less wild. They were, but his sharp eyes noticed her hands shaking as she handed him back the flask. She was a wreck, probably from shock and over extension. The world they lived in wasn’t kind to people, but he could do what he could to help her tonight.

Watching her settle into her curled up position; he thought that she looked quite broken. She was a far cry from the terrifying bandit killer he’d seen, or the fearless mage. He cleared his throat, wondering when the last time he’d spent so much time observing a woman before.

"Come on Lass," he offered her his hand. "Let’s get you something to eat." He almost fell over when she took it without complaint or apparent fear. She shook as she moved, and she moved slowly. Her eyes had taken on that lifeless look once again and he wasn’t sure if he preferred that to panic or fear.

She let him guide her down the stairs where he seated her in an armchair in front of the fire. Lydia, the housecarl who lived there rose when she saw them descend the stairs; bur a small headshake from Brynjolf stopped her from rising to her thane’s aid. He suspected that if Aylin was crowded, she might revert to fear, but Aylin didn’t appear to see much at all as she sat in the chair and Lydia handed her a bowl of something with some bread.

She thanked her housecarl without looking at her at all, and Lydia shared a look with Brynjolf. Out of the pair, Lydia knew her better, but even she didn’t know this behavior. Both of them recognized the look of battle sickness, where a solider had seen too much, and this looked close.

Lydia served herself and sat at the kitchen table, Brynjolf sat beside her in the other chair and started eating, but Aylin didn’t eat or try to eat. She just stared at the flames of the fire.

"Lass, you have to eat." He said after his second spoonful. She didn’t move. He wondered if she would notice if he did anything weird beside her. She didn’t seem like she would notice anything at all in the state she was in, but she needed to eat. He tentatively laid a hand on her hand that held the spoon. He didn’t want to startle her.

“What do you want Brynjolf?” She asked softly.

“I want you to eat.” He responded.

“No, that’s not it.” Her eyes hadn’t left the fire, but he gave Lydia a look. The lady got the hint and took off to her own room. They had developed a decent relationship in the few days since he’d knocked on the door; it was based on their shared feelings for the woman in front of the fire. Lydia was bound to her by honor, duty and friendship, while Brynjolf didn’t know what was binding the elf and he together, he knew it was something.

“What do you think I want?” he asked softly, watching her with green eyes that were uncharacteristically tender.

“I don’t know, answers, an easy lay, all the coin I may have on my person, fuck if I know.”

He’d never heard her swear, but somehow it didn’t shock him. The mood she appeared to be in appeared to be one that had her dropping all of her usual behaviours in favour of anything that brought her comfort. He set his bowl aside before looking at her, his hands folded over his knees as he leaned into them.

“What happened?”

“A rival group who took issue with the Companions decided the best way to deal with their issue was to take out the command.”

“But the Companions don’t really have a central command." Brynjolf was confused. She nodded.

"Let’s just say there were extenuating circumstances." She responded. He chewed threw another bite of stew.

"You and Kodak were close?" He waited for her eyes to fill with tears, but they were dry.

"No one in Skyrim likes elves. When i cam here, i was alone. The companions were the first who didn’t care about who i was so long as I was honorable and able. They saw me threw my training, they kept me going when my past came up to swallow me, we protected this area together. They know me best."

"And Kodak?" He prompted.

"Was the father I hadn’t had since mine went missing in a shipwreck." Her voice almost broke, and they found themselves quiet for a while. The gears in Brynjolf’s head were spinning wildly. He knew that he probably shouldn’t abuse the fact she was so raw to get some answers from her, but it was exciting to finally learn something about her. She had had family once. Apparently they worked on a ship? He didn’t want to press that point too much.

He hadn’t realized that Skyrim was so vehemently opposed to the elves.

Well, he did, but it was different hearing it from the mouth of someone who had lived through the pain of being alone and incredibly disliked because of what she was. The racism that had felt normal all these years suddenly had his stomach squirming uncomfortably.

How old was she when she came here? How long had she been living with discrimination? Was that why she wore the mask? It wasn’t as if it stopped others from knowing she wasn’t a nord. He nudged her hand towards the bowl of soup.

"Eat lass."

"I’m not hungry." She spoke, bur he heard her stomach grumble too. She may not be consciously hungry, but her body was.

"Please Aylin." She turned at the sound of her name and stared at him. He couldn’t read the look in her eyes,

"Why do you even care?" She asked bitterly. "I’m just another Gods dammed dunmer in a land of white skinned humans who’ve all made it clear I should go back to a home I don’t have."

"I care because someone needs to care about you. Now have some stew." He responded, neatly avoiding the question. He wasn’t ready to think about why he cared. He had several ideas, several half formed thoughts that he banished as soon as they surfaced, but none of them were thoughts he wanted to contemplate.

He settled on believing that he was curious about her because she could possibly save the Guild from its issues, and if he was lying to himself, so be it.

She did eat, but slowly. He didn’t think she could taste anything that she ingested anyway. She looked so damned broken, slouched in her chair and staring without seeing. Where had her fire gone? Would it return?

They ate in silence, mostly him watching her eat.

"You have to be anywhere tomorrow?" He finally asked to break the silence.

"Circle meeting in the morning." She responded once shed swallowed a bite. Shed only eaten half the bowl, but she pushed it away. "I’m going to rest. You can have the bed."

Wait, what was that?

He followed her up the stairs.

"You should probably head back to Riften tomorrow. Gods know that Mercer will be worried sick about his second being unreachable for a week." They both knew that to be a lie, as Mercer would only be annoyed that he might have had to deal with whatever Brynjolf usually dealt with.

“What happens after the meeting tomorrow then?” he asked as they rounded the corner to the mezzanine that doubled as a bedroom. He watched her shrug as she sat on the bed.

“There’s one other thing left for Kodlak. After that, I’m sure I’ll come back to the Guild for more jobs, and then maybe back to Winterhold for some more training.”

“Training?” his mind moved swiftly through what she was inferring. “You’re a student of the College as well?” She didn’t reply, only shrugging. She started unlacing her boots and set them to the side. She slipped to her knees beside the bed with her back to him.

“Get some rest Brynjolf. You’ll see me soon after I finish with the Companions, otherwise I’ll send you a note.” He watched her shuffle about on the floor beside the bed before disappearing below the side of the bed. He finally walked around and noticed a bedroll on the floor that she was curled up on.

“Why aren’t you on the bed?” he asked, confused.

“Courtesy? She responded. He gave her a light frown.

“I know you’re lying Lass.” She shrugged.

“You may even be right. Maybe one day I’ll tell you, but not today.” Her voice was soft, and he knew that he’d get no answers from her that evening. He sighed, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed from her and stripping his own boots off. He hadn’t been wearing his armor since he’d settled down (sort of) to await her return, so his casual clothes were enough to rest in for the evening. Lying on his back on her bed, he decided something. Peeking over the side of the bed where she’d curled herself into a ball on the floor in her bedroll, he spoke softly to her.

“If you wish to switch places at any time of the night, let me know. Or if you wish to join me in your bed, I will do you no harm.” He swore. He watched as the side of her mouth curved gently into a small smile.

“I know.” She responded. He knew he wouldn’t get anything else from her tonight and decided to make the most of a large bed to himself. He heard a whisper beside the bed before all the candles simultaneously went out. Probably another spell of hers. His last thought was that that one could be useful for almost anything.

 

The morning dawned cool, and he knew she was gone before his consciousness fully pulled itself to the day. Lydia of course, hadn’t seen her, but he figured that would be the case. He said his goodbyes to the woman, amused that he’d developed a semi decent relationship with a lady who probably would have caused many severe wounds to him if he’d entered any other way than knocking earlier that week.

He took a short way back to Riften, wanting suddenly very desperately to be back in the safety of the Cistern with its water and its cool atmosphere. The plains and the open of Whiterun and it’s hold was too revealing for his taste, but it was only suddenly that he thought so. Perhaps it was the knowledge that death had so recently stalked the supposedly safe streets of the area’s largest city.

Treacherously, he felt his heartstrings being plucked on behalf of the girl as he made his way back to the autumnal forests of the Rift, he ached for her. Watching his fellows around him and how the elves that all his life he’d never really given much thought too, reacted to them. The body language was weird.

Well no, that was wrong. The body language was that of a creature that expected to be beaten. All the other races that weren’t human, they all guarded themselves carefully. Most of those in Skyrim appeared very able to take care of themselves, but it still struck him where suddenly it never had before.

Pursing his lips, he gave his horse a kick and they horse and rider began a canter instead of a trot. Perhaps it was to get away from what she’d made him consider, perhaps it was something else. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, was that this dunmer certainly challenged his view of the world he inhabited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you havent noticed, my original Skyrim game is modded.   
> While I have a bunch of mods that are mostly for helping the game a bit, some of them make an appearance here.   
> Immersive Armors: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/3479/  
> Weapons: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/27644/  
> Breezehome: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/2829/
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos. They have me trying hard to think of more things in order to actually get more done for you all.  
> Thank you so much. Honestly. I've been writing fanfiction for years, and I've never had such a positive response. For all these years I just thought I was a shit writer.   
> Perhaps I am, but you all encourage me to keep going, and that might one day make me less of a shit writer ^^  
> Thanks


	7. Training, Suggestion & Rash Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf is horny and it clouds his judgement.   
> A suggestion is made and shot down.   
> A serious fuck up is made.   
> Aylin decides in rashness that if the Guild wont hear her out,   
> maybe the Jarl will.  
> Rashness indeed.

He kept to himself when he got back to Riften. True to form, Mercer had barely noticed that he’d gone, let alone returned. Delvin was thrilled to be able to have some more coin for their coffers, and he found himself doing quite a few jobs in the next week or so if only to distract himself from what he’d learned in Whiterun.

While methodically tearing threw some training dummies in the training room, he tried to figure out what exactly was bothering him. He’d learned that she didn’t sleep in a bed, or maybe she did that in order to ensure that he had a place to sleep? She was a Thane in Whiterun, and something intense had happened to allow her to get that position. Whiterun loved her, and she was well respected within the city.

The other thoughts that warred with these simple ideas of her was that Kodlak Whitemane was dead, his simple recruit had more political power than he probably did, she was a decent spellcaster, and she’d now made him seriously reconsider how he, and his kinsmen treated those in Skyrim who weren’t pasty skinned Nords. Taking a break, he aimed his dagger at the head of the dummy across the room and threw it.

The dagger skipped off the shoulder of the hay and wood man and clanged its way onto stone. Going over to retrieve his dagger, he sat down on a box along the wall and examined the light green edge of the glass. A throat being cleared by the door almost made him spin and seek the source, but he knew from the light baritone that it was Delvin.

“What’d she do to you Bryn?” the Breton asked as he came into the room. Brynjolf had to chuckle. It caused the Breton to frown as he settled his bulk onto another crate beside his friend. “What’s funny?”

“I wonder how many others have had to ask that of women who’ve been stuck on me.” Delvin rolled his eyes as he sat watching Brynjolf examine his dagger.

“What happened in Whiterun? Those jobs shouldn’t have taken you the time you stayed, I can only assume you met up with a certain dunmer lady, and you come back to hide in work and tearing training dummies apart. What happened?” he repeated.

“Kodlak Whitemane is dead.” Delvin frowned.

“The Harbinger of the Companions? That’s a bit sad, but it doesn’t explain why you were in Whiterun for so long.” Brynjolf sighed, taking his time to consider his words so that he didn’t give away anything that was outside of his story to tell.

“She was close to him. I saw her the day he died, and she let me stay till she avenged him. When she returned, we spoke, and she bade me return here and she said she’d return after another errand was run.” Delvin raised his eyebrows, hearing more than what Brynjolf was saying.

“So what, did you sleep with her or something? Is that why you’re so wound up? Or did you try and she told you off?” Brynjolf gave his friend an amused look.

“You honestly think that she’d let me?” Delvin looked thoughtful.

“Aye, that one feels like she’d probably get what she wanted no matter what it was.”

“She’s persistent.” Brynjolf agreed. “How are you and Vex?” he asked suddenly, enjoying how Delvin’s face coloured in response. The Breton waved his hands as if to ward away the question and the implication at the same time.

“I’m working on her, don’t change the subject.”

“She threaten to cut you again? Or did you have to go spying on her for that to happen this time?”

“Girl always threatens to cut me. The fact she’s doing it more often means that I’m getting somewhere.” Brynjolf let loose a laugh as he stood and sheathed his daggers. Standing, he offered Delvin a hand that his friend took.

“Thanks Del.” He said, clapping the Breton on the shoulder. “I’m feeling better.”

“Well, good.” Delvin said, a little confused at how that had happened so fast. “Let’s go get us some mead, aye? Can discuss business at that point.”

“Aye.”

 

In all truth, Brynjolf didn’t feel better enough to stop him from worrying about his newest thief. He knew more about her now. Somehow he felt like he knew her better than the others, than Niruin and his background, then Rune and his lack of idea about his own past, but he knew also that he next to nothing about the new thief. It was a weird feeling, to feel connected but also to know that he was in the dark.

He slept, ate, and worked, waiting quietly for her to return. Knowing that he was trying to not admit to anyone, not even himself, that he was waiting for her.

 

When she did walk in, she was a damn ghost. He had no idea what she’d been doing, or how long she’d been there. She’d set down her spoils from her jobs for Vex, Delvin and Vekel of all people, and sat with Delvin for a bit before she’d come to find him. He only noticed her once she finally punched him on the shoulder.

He spun around to find the assailant, only to see them walking away. He followed, planning to give the joker a tune in until he recognized the figure. Frowning, he followed them to the training room.

“You returned.” He said, frowning at her.

“You expected me not too?” she asked, softly. She pulled off the bosmer armor to reveal some type of leather sleeveless shirt thing. He realized he was staring as she pushed her braided snow white hair off her shoulder and looked at him curiously.

“I thought you wanted more training in hand to hand?” he gave his head a shake and nodded, moving to where he’d been used to standing when they had practiced beforehand. She finished divulging herself of her weaponry, and he was always astounded how many blades she had on her person. Finally, she strode back to where she’d used to take her place against him and readied herself. The mask in place and her fists ready, he watched her stance change. Her center of gravity was lower than it had been in the past. Had she been practicing?

She’d made the first strike before he really had his head in the game, and he almost missed blocking it. She’d always moved fast, but she still telegraphed her motions too much and he managed to block the next three strikes before she managed to feign to one side and hit him across the jaw with a right hook.

She still hit hard, he thought as he gave his head a shake and checked his jaw for any serious damage. She’d dropped her stance a little and was looking at him with worried eyes. He felt a second wind happen and let a slight smirk reach his eyes before he peppered her with blows that she blocked fairly well. He didn’t show it, but he was both amused and impressed. She’d been practicing.

They circled. He threw punches, she blocked. Adding in some kicks and spinning hits, he was less amused and more impressed as they kept at it.

Something told him that she’d been working with something different as a style. The fact that she kept scoring hits, but appeared to consciously need to tuck her fingers back into a fist showed him that either she was used to scratching, or she’d been learning from a Khajit. He resolved to ask her about-

He felt his back hit the stone floor and the world spun. He didn’t know how long he was down here, but it felt like a while as he felt his head throb in pain. A feeling of soft light invaded his armor and he embraced the warmth as it suffused his skin.

“You got distracted.” He heard her say as the white hair and golden red eyes entered his vision.

“You’ve gotten better.” He responded as her cool hand covered his forehead. He felt his eyelids flicker closed as soft golden light poured into his skin. The warmth felt good, and he felt the throbbing in his head begin to fade. “Why do you keep folding in your fingers?” he asked as she worked her hands around his skull.

“Khajit style. Even had gauntlets made to help with my lack of claws.”

He wondered how good of a liar she was as he found that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He changed tactics.

“Winterhold treated you well?” She shrugged in response, flexing her hands as her spell faded from view.

“You still want to practice?” she asked as she helped him up. He felt pinned by the odd light in her eyes. Had her pupils become more elongated since he’d last seen her? Was this a trick of the low light brought about in the Cistern? He shook his head and nodded.

He swore this time that he’d be on her case the entire time, testing whatever flaws he could find in her new practice of style. Instead his thoughts decided to focus on whatever attraction he had for her. Her oddities had made her interesting, and now he was entirely intrigued by the fact that she could suddenly kick and claw and damage like she never had before. Surprisingly enough, she was getting the better of him, often. He was barely aware of the fact as he watched how she moved with entirely new eyes. His curiosity that was ever present around ladies of any type was in overdrive as he considered if she’d be muscled under those clothes, if she was soft or firm under the leather. What her thighs would feel like wrapped around his middle.

Gods above this was getting far too difficult to fight, he thought as he dodged another flying fist that was aimed for his face. He felt sweat from his scalp rolling down the back of his neck, and wondered when the last time he had to fight this hard was.

Her fist grazed his shoulder and he pounced on it, grabbing her wrist and pinning it behind her back. He had a moment to feel leather wrapped female against him and savor it before she used her elbow to jab him in the ribs and find a way out of his grip. His imagination was getting ahead of him now.

Would she scream if he plunged himself into her? Would she moan? Would she be steadfastly silent as he made her clench and buck against him?

Another shot for his jaw was one he saw too late and he wound up hitting the wall as she managed to pin him there, an elbow under his chin as she held him. Her eyes were alight with fire and fury, and he could feel her heaving against him as she regained her breath. He tried not to feel overly aroused by the feeling of her leaning against him. Finally able to think in a straight line that didn’t immediately lead to a bedroom where he stripped her bare and made her see stars, (or so he hoped) he cleared his throat.

“Well done.” His voice was raspy as she held him against the wall; he felt like he’d forgotten how to speak. Could also have been that she held his vocal cords under her elbow and he was trying not to encourage her to push against him more. He watched as she came back to herself, and all of a sudden as realization dawned in her eyes, she released him.

“Apologies” she spat, apparently not entirely in control of herself as of yet, although he figured her lack of control was entirely different than his.

She retreated another step or two, giving the two of them space. Could she feel the curiosity he held for her, that whatever he held for her beginning to build into straight up want? He decided he needed to find himself a partner again before anything happened to make her run. But then again, she kept coming back didn’t she? He knew already that she had other places she could be if she wished, but she kept returning to Riften, to _him_.

"I think that’s enough for the night eh lass? Let’s not wear you out all at once." He watched her quirk an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"As if you could." She muttered. He chuckled, advancing on her quickly. She turned to him, finding herself between the wall and his chest, which she knew from her own experience, was a wall of bone and muscle. He watched her blink and seek out his gaze.

"Want to find out?" He asked his voice low and seductive, a knowing grin to his lips as he watched her. She swallowed, and he watched the fear war with other emotions behind the veil in her eyes. She blinked and shimmied out from between him and the wall.

"Better not.” She responded. "I’d probably be no match for the redheaded thief of hearts." She moved over to a bucket of water and he watched as she doused her face in cool liquid, deciding to look away as the water ran in rivulets down her throat. This woman was testing his self control without even trying. He stared intensely at the wall and tried to get him mind back above his waist.

"Hey Brynjolf, I’ve been thinking."

"What is it lass?" He asked, gathering his own materials that he’d dropped to fight her.

"Do you think there would be any interest from the younger group of thieves in doing some bandit hunting to jeep the roads clear?"

"Eh?" He felt his eyebrows quirk as he turned to her. Her hood was up and her armor on, and she shuffled uncomfortably as he looked at her.

"Well when I was in the Flagon last, I heard you yelling that some weren’t brining in enough coin. Why not put them to work clearing the roads? The Jarl offers good enough bounties to clear our camps of the jerks, why not have some of the less stealthy members work at that and bring in coin that way?" He stared at her.

"You want us to go straight?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"You think that those like Thrynn could ever actually "go straight"?" But he’d be an excellent bandit hunter, or treasure hunter."

"Treasure hunter." he repeated. She sighed.

"You’re in an area that’s crawling with dwemer ruins. Someone goes in and cleans them out? Instant clean gold. Bring the extra to Balimund to smelt into ingots. He’ll pay good gold for it. Bandits steal goods from caravans and from people. Jarl pays us to take out bandits, strip ‘em clean of goods, and the people who lose the items pay us for that too.  Besides that; the people of Riften have noting. Do you know how loud Grelka complains about lack of shipments? They wait for me to return with goods because their stuff isn’t coming. From dragons and bandits and the civil war? It’s just going to get worse. Keep the roads clear and no only will we be paid for that, they might have something worth stealing. Do you know how long Delvin got chewed out by Tonilia when I brought back another "family heirloom" that turned out to be a plate? She can’t fence plates, no one wants them. They’re worth something to the family, but not us. It was bad enough I bought it from her just to return it to where it came from." He blinded at her, taking in what she said before looking at her square in the face and asking:

"Are you out of your mind?" She recoiled at that. "Were thieves, not treasure hunters! We steal a thing, that’s what we do!"

"You can’t steal anything if there’s nothing to steal Brynjolf!" He scowled at her.

"How were to planning on getting us pardons to do this anyway? Talking to the Jarl?"

"I could-"

"She won’t listen to you, you’re a thief! Just like the rest of us!" He watched as she deflates. Gathering her gauntlets, she turned to him defeated.

"Here I thought maybe you’d listen and want to help your guild. I guess I was wrong." She walked away and out of the training room, into the main cistern. He followed.

"Id listen if it was sense you were speaking. Is that what happened to Kodlak? You fed him some daft idea that winds up getting him killed?"

He knew in an instant he’d gone too far. In fact he’d sailed over "too far" and found himself somewhere in "serious trouble" when she turned to him slapped him so hard across the face that the rest of the cistern seemed to still.

He could feel his cheek burning, knew without seeing that it was red as cherries in summertime. It burned, and his pride stung, but he was caught by her eyes. They’d gone ragingly stunningly golden. The pupil had become as a cats, sharp angled and deadly. There was no trace of red or silver in her gemstone eyes.

"How dare you." Her voice was soft, sharp and deadly. It was almost a hiss. They held each other’s gazes for a moment before she turned and left without looking back.

They were being stared at. He could feel the gazes of the thieves about them, and heard the door to the flagon slam closed as if it were a tomb door closing forever on a grave. He heard his name being called, and robotically he headed for the guild masters desk.

"Aye Mercer?" He asked. The guild master stared at him for a moment, tracing the obvious hand print on his cheek.

"Reign in your recruit, or I will." He growled looking at the door she’d disappeared threw.

"Aye Mercer” Brynjolf responded.

"Not even sure why we let another Dunmer join us. They’re all black hearted scum."

He heard her words in his head again. _"No one in Skyrim likes elves."_

"She’s still good at her work." He ventured. Mercer leveled suspicious eyes at him.

"She’s dangerous and she’s a snake. She’ll bite you as soon as shed help us. Keep her on a leash."Brynjolf nodded and began walking away, only to be met by Delvin coming from the flagon.

"Inventory count, now." He growled. Rolling his eyes, he followed the Breton to the vault where they walked in and closed the door partway to muffle the sound.

The vault was still fairly bare as they both knew it would be. The odd box of gemstones, the odd lockbox of gold, it wasn’t much but it was something. That was more than they could say about other things.

"Explain to me," Delvin growled as he partially closed the vault enough to muffle them. "Why the most reckless thief I’ve met behind you, Vex and Gallus, comes to tell me that she wants all the jobs she can get as far away from Riften as possible and refuses to come to the guild for more until either "Brynjolf’s bruise heals" or she stops being persona non grata? What happened?”

“She slapped me!” Brynjolf cried indignantly. Delvin was unmoved.

“What did you say?” he asked with his arms crossed. Brynjolf shuffled, reminded how out of line his words had been.

“She told me a daft plan, and I asked her if she’d suggested daft like that to Kodlak Whitemane that caused him to get killed.”

“She was close to Kodlak?” Delvin clarified.

“Very.” He answered. Delvin shook his head like he was dealing with a foolish child.

“You are a fool. If anyone had said anything like that to you about Gallus, they’d have taken your fist like a man and not said a word about it, or they would have had all of us to answer too. You say something about her and she’s the problem now. What kind of fairness is that?”

“She fed me some fool idea about being bandit hunters and-“

“Treasure hunters?” Delvin asked blandly. Brynjolf’s jaw dropped.

“You knew about this idea?”

“She came to me before she went to you, you daft fool!” Delvin exploded. “She’s been doing research on everyone in Riften since she came back with you from that stupid fort! Pulling off break-ins for the purpose of research so she’d be able to come to us and give us information! She’s the only one since Gallus who actually has an eye for the bigger picture and you insulted her the way that no sane person in this guild would have insulted you! She’s so angry that she’s refusing to come back to the Guild until she’s sure that slapping you won’t immediately earn her expulsion, but she’s still doing jobs for us!”

“It’s a daft plan Delvin! She’d get us all killed if we went up against anything!” Delvin pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he might blow a blood vessel.

“Brynjolf, your Thieves aren’t fools. Unlike the Companions, we could probably do what she’s suggesting. She’s offering us a chance to be able to walk out under the sun again; she wants to give us a chance to be able to live without bounties, because we’d be doing a service to the Jarl. She’s also looking ahead at what is probably going to happen in our tiny province and maybe disaster proof us a little. When was the last time any of you upper management types considered that!? You’ve been fretting about the Guild for months, hammering your head against the idea that we may be headed for the void and trying to pull us back up. Here she is giving you an idea or several, and you throw it out on its head? I told her to go broach this with you and not Mercer because you might be reasonable enough to see sense, I told her that you’d be most open once you got your emotions out with a fight; instead you jump down her throat without thinking about it, didn’t you? I thought I taught you better then that boy!”

That was enough, and Brynjolf said so by turning on his heal and heading for the door. As far as he was concerned, he was finished with this conversation. Devlin didn’t stop him as the door was pushed open and he left.

He checked a mirror as he went past, glaring at anyone who tried to meet his eyes. His reflection appeared fine on one side, but the other side was bruised and red. He hadn’t been cuffed that hard since he was a lad who’d talked back to the guard at the wrong time. Not that as a thief there was ever a good time, but that day had been especially bad.

Deciding that burying his head in a tankard of mead would be a damned good idea for the rest of the night, Brynjolf did so, leaving a heavy purse for Vekel to pull from so long as the drinks kept coming.

 

 

 

 Jarl Laila Law-Giver felt warm in her sleep. It was a lovely feeling of contentment along with her warmth, and she smiled in her rest. She felt that it might be too bright be the middle of the night, and she frowned before opening her eyes.

The candles were lit, as was the fire, which was odd as she was quite certain that the room had been dark when she’d gone to sleep. She sat up in bed, noticing the figure in black armor and a mask, who noticing that the Jarl had awakened, bowed deeply.

“My apologies my Jarl.” Shifting herself to a sitting position, Laila frowned curiously at her guest.

“Thane Selen, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I required an audience with you milady.”

“One that couldn’t wait until business hours during the day?” The Jarl asked with a raised eyebrow. Again the figure bowed deeply, and the Jarl could tell that the manner was apologetic.

“I’m afraid not milady.” She indicated a chair by the fire. “May I offer you a sweet roll and some mead?”

“Some of my own fare?” the Jarl asked as she rose from bed, grateful that her evening attire was decent enough to receive an odd visitor at such an hour. The visitor shook her head.

“I brought it from my own stores, but I can understand if you would prefer your own.”

“You sneak into my quarters to ask for an audience and offer me your food and drink?” The intruder paused.

“Would you prefer I return to the kitchens and obtain some of your own fare milady?” Laila shook her head.

“No, please. I trust you enough.” She sat in the offered chair in front of the fire and popped the cork on the bottle of mead. “What does my Thane require that cannot wait until day?” She took a swig of the offered mead, as the figure reached down by the fire and obtained a different bottle. She too opened it and moved the mask aside to take a swift drink as well. “A drink to share with your Jarl?” Laila asked. The black clad figure swallowed and shook her head.

“Frankly Milady, this is to steady my nerves.”

“You have a need to steady your nerves?” Her thane took a breath.

“My Jarl, I ask of you two things. Could I have your permission to be frank and truthful with you, and could you allow me the favour of holding your judgment until I’ve outlined my plan?” The jarl frowned but nodded.

“I allow you both of these boons.” Her intruder cleared her throat again.

“My Jarl, you made me Thane of the Rift, but by doing so you made me Thane of the entire Rift, all of your citizens. This includes those who you would rather ignore as citizens. By this, I mean the Thieves Guild.” Aylin heard Laila take a sharp breath, but she charged on. Why had this been a good idea again? “Before I became Thane, I was inducted into the Guild, and I found a home there after I had slept in Beggars Row for a few days after I entered Riften. I found good people there, much as they are often not on the right side of the law.

Thieves aren’t born or bred, their made from the desperate that are hungry. So many of the stories if those I’ve met are that of orphans who lost families and began stealing so they could eat. After some time, when others were learning the trades or farming, blacksmithing and the like, these orphans who had nothing learned the trade of thieving.

Once they got good enough, food became less problematic and larger things took the forefront. They grew up with the only trade they could, because no one wants another mouth to feed. Not all of them want to be thieves, which brings me to my next point.

Your people are struggling in Riften. Money moves through the streets, but not to those on the ground. The merchants depend on caravans which are becoming more sporadic as Skyrim becomes deadlier. Your people complain but don’t know how to do so anything. Your guard is effective and good at guarding, but how many decent explorers do you have to hire to get rid or bandits and other reasons why caravans won’t travel?

The civil war has barely begun, and the dragons wreak havoc on the people outside your walls. Desperate people with nothing do desperate things, like become bandits or beggars to keep alive. Bandits stop commerce and hold up goods, they make your people poorer."

"What are you suggesting then?" Laila asked, curious what her visitor might offer. The dark elf swallowed another gulp of whatever she was drinking. Nerves maybe?

"I propose a way for the thieves to make themselves useful too you. Let those who wish, act as bandit hunters for the Rift. Give them conditional pardons so your guard won’t immediately decide to arrest them, and let them take the bounties for anything stopping the roads." Laila frowned, an odd idea, but one not entirely without merit.

"Not all of them want to be thieves’ milady, and I think those that found themselves in terrible circumstances would welcome a chance to do good where they never before had a chance."

"Why would they consider this?" Aylin raised an eyebrow that the Jarl couldn’t see, taking her time to consider what she was about to say. This could cost her thane status, possibly put an immediate execution order on her head or have her exiled from the only place she was starting to consider safe. That aside, if she was in trouble with the guild as she suspected, and anything happened to them because of what she said next? Goddess above, she hoped shed get killed because she wanted nothing to happen to them because of her. Taking a deep breath, she answered.

"Because your people have nothing worth stealing, which I have verified personally. One of my compatriots was ripped a new ass because he sent one of us out for a ''priceless heirloom' that turned out to be a plate. Our fence tore him a new one because plates are worthless as loot. It was so embarrassing, my compatriot had it returned."

"That would explain the report the guard received that the artifact had been returned with a purse of coins and an apology." The jarl replied primly. Aylin nodded. “This wouldn’t have been you, would it?” The Jarl asked. Aylin tried to keep a decent poker face, but her posture told the story as she froze stiff. How had she-!?

“There have also been reports of food being left for those at Beggars Row, something I can attribute to you as well, my Thane?”

Was it possible for her posture to go even more rigid?

Laila chucked, and took a sip of her mead.

“You are not the only one who has eyes on this city Selen. You were spotted sneaking into the Row with food, and I repeat what I said when I gave you your status as Thane, that you have become a Champion for those in this city. Although, I am curious as to why an adventurer as you decided to feed those in the Row?” Aylin bowed her head.

“Because milady, I remember what its like to be hungry, and I figured that if it was within my power, I’d help those who had nothing.”

“Yet you had no problem breaking into my citizen’s homes in order to see what kind of loot they had?”

“I would like to make it clear that I did that of my own violation, and not as an order from the Guild.”

“The point still remains.” Laila responded sternly. Aylin worried her lip under the mask.

“Research, your grace. I wanted information to go to my superiors with, so that I had a reason for suggesting this. What I found confirmed my theory. Those that have money in this city are yourself, Maven Black-Briar, and Bolli. You are not a good target, as going after you means the entire guard gets called down on the guild, Maven is off limits, and Bolli gives most of his to the temple. I’ll be damned if I’ll steal from the gods. The rest of those in the city are tradesmen or shopkeepers, and they are not wealthy unless one wants to steal raw materials, and that gets heavy.” She leaned back and took a long drink of the wine she’d warmed. “Perhaps I’m not good at being a thief because I think of these things. The Thieves Guild is having issues, I wanted to help Riften and give those who wanted to be something other than a thief, a chance. I wanted to help them gain a foothold as something other than a criminal organization to Riften.”

“Yet you’re asking me to give thieves a chance to potentially steal more from my citizens.” Aylin ducked her head deferentially.

“With all due respect your grace, I was hoping they would decide to steal from the bandits as well as rid the Rift of them. I also suggested that perhaps they undertake some honest treasure hunting from dwemer spots around the Rift, hoping that perhaps that would pay better than theft.”Laila opened her mouth to ask something else, but Aylin cut her off. “I wish I could say that I could change them, but some of them appreciate being thieves, and I can’t change that. All I can ask for is permission from you to hopefully give them a chance.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Laila cleared her throat.

“I have two questions for you Selen.” She began. Aylin bowed her head in waiting. “Have you gone to your superiors in the guild with this idea?”

“I have milady.”

“And?”

“The response was… less than ideal.”

“Yet you come to me?” the Jarl asked. Aylin cleared her throat.

“I had thought that perhaps if I came to you and gave you the same idea, that your decision would allow them to make a decision one way or another.”

“Of course, you’ve come to me now and confessed your affiliation, did you consider that?” Aylin was silent. She blinked slowly, trying to not remember that she probably had cut herself off at the knees while trying to do a good thing. That said, it being good was a matter of perspective, and she’d rushed in out of anger more than careful thinking. Apparently trying to get back at Brynjolf for what he said also could potentially result in death or exile. This felt like a trade based in stupidity, which was nothing out of the ordinary, she thought bitterly.

“I did my Jarl.” She said quietly. “It is only now that the results of my actions truly dawn on me, and yet, I don’t think I did the wrong thing.”

“Hmm.” The Jarl said, tipping back the bottle of mead again, observing the black shrouded figure that seemed more cloaked in despair than in armor. “Does the Guild know you’re Thane?”

“No Milady, I did not wish for it to be known amongst them. I didn’t wish to be demanded that it be used for them.”

“A sensible decision.” There was a pause. “So, why did you feel the need to break into my personal quarters at barely past second bell of the night?” The question was posed with a tiny thread of humor, and Aylin observed it with a slight rising of her hooded head.

“I did not wish for you to be seen meeting with me and unsavory parallels drawn if you decided you liked my idea. I wanted you to be as free from scrutiny as possible.”

“Also to protect yourself?”

“The thought crossed my mind milady.” Aylin sighed. She stretched, finishing the last of the bottle of wine and tucking it into her armor. She pulled out a silvery thin rope and tucked it over her shoulder. Standing, she walked to the window and pushed it open on its hinges. “I do apologize for disturbing you so late my Jarl; I will take my leave if it pleases you. I’m probably going to leave Riften and the Rift for some time, to allow you a chance to consider my thoughts, and should you decide that you wish to revoke my status, and declare me an outlaw, I would accept your decision. Honeyside will still be my way of getting information, so sooner or later I will return, so I would assume I’d discover your decision based on if I still have access to Honeyside when I return. Should you be wishing to seriously consider what I suggested, I suggest that you inform me before you decide to go public. I still have no idea if the guild wishes to give my thoughts any credence, thus this may all be for naught in which case I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Aylin looked sadly at the Jarl before tossing the silvery rope up towards the roof where it caught something and held. She gave it a few good yanks before bowing low to Laila Law-Giver.

“Thank you for everything my Jarl, and I’m sure, one way or another, we’ll see each other again. I wish you a fine evening.” She pulled herself up the rope and swung out the window on it, hitting the side of the keep with a soft thump, she shut the window behind her, before the Jarl could no longer see the guest that had appeared in the dark. A soft breeze swept the room and returned the fire to its earlier blanked state, and blew out all the candles save one, enough for her to find her way back to bed. A useful spell, shame she wasn’t good at any sort of magick, it would have been useful once one is in bed.

 

Inside Honeyside, Aylin gathered up what she thought she’d need. She had never left much here, having a tendency to squirrel things away in places that weren’t the den of Thieves that Riften was. Most of the house was pretty close to exactly the way it had been when she’d bought it. Still though, she sighed and was sad about her movements, pausing often to stop and stare at what she was sure had once been hers. One of the first places she’d felt at home since Siren’s Rock, but that had gotten so bad towards the end that it hardly had counted as safe or home. Now it was gone, so it didn’t matter.

She shouldered all her things, and gave her house a last once over. She’d locked the street door, but if the guard wanted in, it wasn’t that hard to get into in. She went out the balcony door and gave a piercing whistle. She heard an answering neigh and was grateful that she’d had the foresight to pay the hustler for a horse that responded to whistles. Locking the door behind her, she slipped down the stairs and found her horse at the end of the pathway that led to the road.

One foot up in the stirrup, she looked back at the lights of Riften, watching the lights dancing in the waves of Lake Honrich as the city fell asleep. Above all of this, the dual moons cast down bright circles into the water. They slid into darkness as a passing cloudbank crawled across their faces. As the shadows began to cover the land, there was a sound of the clattering of hooves as a lone horse and rider made its way into the darkness of the autumn forest of the Rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, this is a must contested chapter. It was fighting me the entire time.   
> It popped out of nowhere and then it was discussed ad infinitum,   
> you'll have to inform me if this seems too out of left field, or if its just right.   
> I feel like I'm taking everyone for curve balls in characters.. ><  
> Thoughts please?  
> I'll be out with more as soon as I figure out what the hell I'm doing next.   
> Enjoy!


	8. Letters

Delvin, I’ve finished the job in Markarth. I fucking hate this city. Get Vex and you to collaborate and give me something that’s in the same damn hold at LEAST.

      -Aylin

 

Girlie:   
Markarth is no one’s favourite. Vex gave me a Heist and Burglary in Solitude , I’ve got you the numbers job at Bits and Pieces. Stay out of trouble will you?  
-Delvin

 

Girlie:   
Its been a month. Where in the hells are you?

 

Aylin:  
Wanted you to know how the guild is doing without you. We’re surviving. Coin is scarce. I liked your idea, but after you left, no one’s really said anything about it, not that anyone beyond you, me’n Brynjolf knew about it. He’s still pissy about it, dunno why. Been burry’n his head in tankards of mead, and scowling at everyone. Vex finally told him to get off his arse and go get laid and he just about threw a tankard at her. Don’t know what’s on his mind but everyone’s going to slap him soon if he doesn’t get over it.

Mercer has been more scowly than usual. He may have deepened his frown lines. That isn’t unusual, but I thought you’d like to know given that you aren’t here to notice it yourself.

All the orphans from Honorhall are gone. Some lady nord came by and apparently convinced Constance Michel to let them go maybe? Either way, she’s the only one left. Maybe she’s waiting for more orphans? It’s been reported that she disappears out of Riften 2 or 3 times a week. Gods knows where she’s going, it’s odd. Wonder where them kids have gone too? Hope they’ve been adopted. Have you seen any small brigade of children out in the wilds?

Some idiot new kid of ours got himself killed the other day, decided to steal from someone and got shot up by the guards too well. Why these idiots decide to wear guild armor and then try and get away with a goblet. A GOBLET. WHY.

Keep yourself safe girl,  
-Delvin

 

Delvin:   
Solitude went well. I’m alive. No I haven’t seen any orphans. Stop stashing goods you don’t want Tonilia to find in my house, and stop telling Iona that she’s gorgeous. She will hurt you. If the Jarl repossesses Honeyside, I don’t want your stuff getting found. Sell it to Tonilia or stop stealing it. Give me more jobs.   
-A

 

Aylin:  
Its not my fault that your housecarl has the body of a goddess, but as requested, I’ll stop on both counts. Jarl hasn’t done anything yet, I don’t think she will. Why is all your mail addressed to Selen? Vex and I managed to coordinate on the holds we want jobs done in. Don’t let the Forsworn kills you.

Did you hear about the murder of the woman in Solitude at her wedding? Was that one of your associates? Stay safe regardless.

 

Delvin:  
Ask me no questions I’ll tell you no lies.

Fuck Cidhna Mine. Fuck the Forsworn. Fuck this Gods damned city. I’m never going to try to stop a murder spree again. Alternatively, gimmie more jobs on the Silverbloods. I will happily rob them blind. Or the Thalmor, again, happy to rob them blind.   
-A

 

Girlie:  
Go bother the Stormcloaks. Windhelm has some jobs for you. Vex’s only jobs were in Winterhold, sorry. Contacts don’t always give us jobs in the same city. You’ve got a helluva pay day coming when you get so far though. Stay warm.   
-Delvin

 

Delvin:  
Remember how I said I wouldn’t involve myself in stopping a murder spree again? I lied. Necromancers are interesting creatures, but only when those who they work are dead already. Windhelm is a pain in the ass. The nords there don’t make a decent impression on anyone who isn’t a nord already. I don’t blame my kinsfolk for disliking this snow filled backwater. On top of that, a dragon. A DRAGON DAMNIT.

I want a break.

 

Aylin:  
Are you ever coming back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in 2 days? MWAHAHAHA...   
> *ahem* and now, back to figuring out what I'm doing next.   
> Spoiler alert: I have no idea what I'm doing next.


End file.
